The Biggest Lie
by AliLamba
Summary: MISTRESS \noun\ mis·tress, mis·tress·es: 1. extramarital lover of a man: a woman with whom a man has a usually long-term extramarital sexual relationship, often one in which he provides support 2. owner or controller of something...
1. i'm waiting for the train

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part one: i'm waiting for the train)  
****by:** AliLamba  
**rated:** T/PG-13, for language and innuendo  
**quick thanks: **To MoonlightGardenias, who is slowly kicking me of my dash habit. And to PatriotJackie, who is both humble and wise, and who I adore with the fire of a thousand suns.  
**notes:** So...this is an adaptation. It took me a long time to come to that conclusion, as it's an adaptation of a Sailor Moon plagiarism I read sometime in high school. That in itself is problematic, because I don't know the exact name of what was being plagiarized, only that it was a direct one (with the words Darien and Sabrina ? filled in where appropriate, etc.). The story has unfortunatfely stuck with me ever since, to the point where I ended up scouring the internet for it a few years ago, even though it had mostly been entirely purged because of the fact that it was, well, a plagiarism. It finally surfaced in mostly bits and pieces, but it's been stored on my hard-drive ever since. This, what I've posted, is my _own writing_, yes, but the plot, for the post pafrt, is something I couldn't even come close to taking credit for. Some of the scenes follow exactly like they do in the "original." Even some of the characterizations I think I adapted from LOST to fit the story…

Actually (sorry for this being long), I think I have to say that the characterizations I think at least partly fit. I could've pressured this story on a lot of other fandoms I've been involved with over the years, but they wouldn't have fit as well as I think this story suits Jack and Kate. Also, the _setting has completely been changed_, and I've done a lot of _my own research_ to make it work. So yes, I've definitely _adapted_ the "original" work…but that doesn't make me feel any better about sharing this. Maybe if I ever figure out the name of the original novel, I can post it, but until then… Oh well, it just needed to get out of my system. If this offends anyone, or they think that I'm in any way cheating, then I really encourage you not to read it, and let me sort of feel guilt about it all on my own.

That being said, I really hope you enjoy this story as much as I always have.

* * *

Cowes Week, Britain's largest and oldest boat racing event, was typically an eight-day excuse for the socially elite to rub elbows with each other, spending as much money as possible during the first week of August to distinguish themselves for Fall's social season. And yet—for all of the galas, the lunches, and the ceremonial boating, no family ever established itself beyond the Humes. Wealthy enough to own several third-world countries (and there was rumor they did), their empire touched practically everything, and it was no little-known fact that many key political and entertainment figures were heavily indebted to their favor.

On that Saturday afternoon in early August, the Humes were hosting their annual Hume-Widmore Polo Match and Luncheon, and it was predictably attended by almost 150 of the most well-known faces the Western Hemisphere had to offer. In the middle of the throng was as always Christian Shephard, accompanied this time by his new wife Nikki. An attractive man even in his late sixties, Christian's gray hair and sharp eyes nevertheless defended his intelligence and cut-throat mentality.

Obviously, Christian was not a Hume by name, as his own father had tried to abandon his famous inheritance over the course of his lifetime, committing himself instead to a life of good deeds and medicine. Christian had adopted this tradition, as he had made his own son, though by the time old man Shephard had died, Christian was practically salivating to reclaim his Hume entitlement. In shady corners, people often speculated as to the coincidental death of Christian's only competition (his own cousin), some going so far as to imply that Christian was in the vicinity when William Hume the II accidentally drowned twenty miles off the coast of Cape Verde.

However his having got there, Christian considered himself a force to be reckoned with (and in most cases, people didn't). He created a standing example, especially when compared to the last living Hume by royal standards, the young Desmond, who rarely went a month without splashing some drunken scandal across the front page of every tabloid known to people who could read. It had been written into the dead old Hume's will, however, that Desmond was to reclaim the entire empire by the time he turned 35, a mere two years away—a fact that when mentioned, made Christian very, _very _irritable.

But on this particular Saturday, amid the pleasant gardens outside the Ryde Castle, a woman stood alone, unusual in the way she was observing the crowd rather than mingling within it. Her wavy brown hair was tied in a conservative knot at the nape of her neck, light make-up applied to a heart-shaped face and pale green eyes. Other guests were too busy rubbing noses or watching the two old families compete on the polo field to acknowledge the single girl, though admittedly, many a man's eye dragged away from their wives and daughters to look the young woman up and down.

Kate tried to look casual as she took a slow sip from the crystal flute of Champagne. The bubbles tickled her throat, and she had to swallow a cough painfully in an effort to save the satin of her dress. She tried to look unaffected as she touched her throat tenderly, though a heady wave of relief wasn't far behind. Kate had spent the last penny she owned on what she was wearing, and she would rather die now than let that rental return money slip away.

It was a nice dress: pale yellow, slim to her curves, the straps twisted casually over one shoulder. It was a dress she could spend an entire day just touching to feel the silkiness slip over her fingers. A dress that was appropriate for the famous Hume-Widmore Polo Match at Cowes.

Which is how she had crashed it so easily.

Kate grimaced distastefully at the memory of how the guard had leered at her so suggestively ("_Monica Callis, huh?_" "_Yes, Jane Widmore's my mother. I-I only stepped out for a moment._") and tried to cover the bile with another sip of Champagne. Yes, the dress was an inch or so shorter than she was comfortable with, and she never really was one for foundation, but to a certain extent she had felt it necessary. She was only praying it would work, when she finally met who she was looking for.

A group of people laughed amid the mingling guests to her right, and Kate turned to watch. No one that she recognized, really, and that meant none of eponymous Humes or Widmores, whose families she had studied so obsessively over the past two weeks in preparation for her attendance.

Kate propelled herself forward, as much to avoid looking conspicuous as to sample some hors d'oeuvres. Hopefully something with caviar; if she was going to exploit these people, she had decided she was going to go all out, and live without regrets. She hadn't had a real meal in two days, anyway, and it would probably be the best food she would taste in her life.

A waiter stopped and offered her something with shrimp on it, and Kate took it with a gracious smile, bringing to her lips. Suddenly, however, something rammed into her elbow, propelling the dead crustacean in an arc to the ground. Kate looked around sheepishly, but it looked like no one had noticed, so she turned to look at what had cause the potential faux pas.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" a girl was saying, her voice heavy with an Australian accent. She had thick blonde hair that trailed down her back in a long braid, amazing eyes, and the sort of softly curved figure that invited men to fantasize: Claire Hume.

Kate shook her head softly and smiled, trying to placate the obviously jittery younger woman.

"No it's fine," Kate's expression dropped into mock sincerity, "I've been trying to go vegetarian anyway."

Claire froze for a second, like she wasn't sure how to interpret Kate's joke, and then the girl's painted lips stretched into a smile, and unexpectedly she started to laugh. Kate suddenly found herself laughing with her, in the middle of the party, and they both seemed to realize it at once, mouths clamping shut even as they wiped tears from the corner of their eyes.

"Oh _God_," Claire murmured, her mouth dropping open as she felt for any smeared cosmetic around her eyelashes, "Oh God I needed that."

Kate surveyed Claire, a smile fixed firmly in place. At twenty-two, she was three years younger than Kate, and already she was wealthier than Kate could ever dream to be. The young blonde was born humbly, yes, part of the extra-marital affair of one Christian Shephard and a Carol Littleton of Sydney. Christian Shephard being the unofficial patriarch of the Hume fortune, whose acceptance of his illegitimate daughter right before his first wife's untimely death (and right after Claire's mother's) had created quite a scandal six months ago. If it weren't for the fact that by nature Claire was reserved, and had been avoiding getting to know her new-found family, Kate would have gladly attached herself to the girl. Still, she decided to explore the contact.

Claire was now dressed in a turquoise cocktail dress Kate recognized from some sort of fashion week, a pretty, wide-brimmed hat perched effortlessly atop her head. Laughter and amusement abated, she was now peering curiously at Kate, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

"Um, who are you? If you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all," Kate answered quickly (_too quickly_?) as she extended her hand, "Monica Callis. You know, Jane's daughter."

"Oh, right," Claire nodded slowly, though her eyes were somewhat penetrating as she took Kate's hand and lightly shook it. "So, um…you here for the races?"

Kate smiled, and almost laughed again as she looked down at her shoes, "You know, I don't think either of us needs to pretend we know anything about what's going on here."

Immediately, Kate knew she had said the right thing. Claire's face melted into a puddle of gratitude. "Oh my God, thank you," she enthused, "You have no idea how _sick_ I am of trying to remember how many types of…spinnakers there are."

Kate's smile was still closed as it stretched against her teeth, and Claire looked her over.

"I am _not_ letting you leave my side all day, Monica Callis. You are _far_ too normal."

The smile Kate had kept in check now blossomed, and she nodded towards the polo field. "C'mon, let's go see how many cute butts we can see before lunch. And by cute butts I obviously mean the horse's."

Claire laughed again, though the action was more controlled, as she hooked her arm around Kate's and started walking towards the field.

_Thank you_, Kate almost whispered to herself, thanking the very sky for the first thing that had gone right for her in months.

The two approached the edge of the field at just the right time, bugles sounding their punctuality and the end of the match. Roars of applause erupted as the dark blue-shirted side threw up their arms in exuberance—the Humes had won for the second year in a row.

Kate began to frantically search the men for the face she was looking for, and suddenly, there he was.

_Desmond Hume_.

Kate wasn't usually one for the sort of assignment Edward Mars had given her, but as the last of her money had begun to run dry, he had proposed it to her exactly when he knew she couldn't say no.

"_C'mon, Katherine... With your looks…" his voice had tried to be caressing, in the way that made obvious what was playing in his mind's eye, and Kate instantly recoiled._

The job was simple: Get close to Desmond Hume, and get any sort of gossip that wasn't being reported already. The filthier, the better.

She wanted to say no, was holding out hope that someone would pick up one of her photographic essays, but she knew she couldn't wait blindly. And, if she was honest, she had a very ulterior motive. It was the Humes who were responsible for her even being in England in the first place, were the ones who had funded the project that drew her out of her graduate program at the University of Iowa, then ruthlessly pulled the plug at the first whiff of failure, leaving Kate and dozens of others out of work within two weeks. Unlike the others, Kate was left stranded, and it didn't take long to find out that her particular expertise was in very short demand on this side of the pond.

So Kate had given in, agreed to try to find more fodder for the tabloid flame on Desmond Hume, knowing she would be paid only for results.

"Monica?"

Kate started at the sound of her given name, and blinked to find Claire staring at her curiously.

"Sorry," she started bashfully, drawing a hand to her temple, "Alcohol and sun, I guess."

Claire bit her lip, a worried frown on her forehead, and Kate had to swallow a cold, guilty lump. She was surprised to find it there.

"I was just saying that I've got to go and make some rounds," Claire turned her eyes up and shrugged, trying to convey how annoying she found the prospect. "Will I see you for lunch?"

Kate's stomach grumbled softly at the mere prospect, and she was glad that the excited hollering from the Hume's hoisting the coveted polo medallion above their heads had covered it up. She nodded, and Claire grinned before slipping off with an assistant-type Kate hadn't noticed. _Damn_, Kate whispered to herself as she watched Claire leave, and downed the last of her Champagne. Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her left shoulder.

"Hey, another American, right?" it was a low, Southern lilt, and for barely a moment it brought her back to Iowa. Kate flinched away from the hand that had touched her upper arm, but turned. He was tall, with streaked blonde hair that fell into his eyes. His polo uniform was tinted gold—a Widmore. So no use to her.

Her smile was reserved, "Right on the mark." Not wanting to encourage conversation, Kate's gaze explored the crowd, recognizing Penelope Widmore talking animatedly with a gaggle of young men.

The stranger grinned slowly, as his eyes swept her frame when he thought she wasn't looking. "Let me guess…Colorado."

Kate inwardly sighed, but she flashed him a smile, "Right again."

Silence descended shortly but swiftly, as if he was waiting for her to say something. "I'm from Alabama, in case you were wondering." There was a teasing in his voice that made Kate realize she was being rude.

"Sorry, it must be the heat, messing with my head. How did you end up here?"

The stranger gave her a curious look, and then pointed to his jersey. "I was sort of recruited," he explained, though his voice betrayed his pride.

"Of course," Kate nodded, "I guess I've just been away from home too long."

The stranger's lips broadened into a grin, "You, then, need a drink."

Kate laughed faintly, "You know, maybe I've had too much to drink."

"Ah, you can never have too much to drink," he countered. It took her a moment to recover from the subtle inuendo, but then Kate grinned mischeviously.

"Says the loser."

The stranger's face fell, and then he laughed, shaking his head, before extending his hand.

"Sawyer. Sawyer Ford," he introduced. Kate looked warily at his mud-streaked palm, and took it gently.

"Monica," she offered simply.

The man called Sawyer dipped his head and kissed the back of her hand, and Kate forced a smile when he looked up at her. Alright, this was nice and everything, but she had things to do. It was time to get rid of him.

"Actually, I might be able to use that drink," Kate tilted her head to the side. "Do you think you could get me something cold?" and then she added, to stall him longer, "With lots of ice?"

Sawyer's grin quirked even broader as he took her offered champagne flute, "Don't go away now, Freckles."

Kate had to use more than one facial muscle to suppress the grimace. If there was one thing she couldn't stand about her appearance, it was the smattering of childish spots across her cheeks.

The sun beat down on the back of her neck, and Kate looked longingly towards the lunch tents. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness actually did sweep over her senses, and Kate stumbled.

A hand shot out and steadied her elbow.

"Hey now," Kate felt the fingers wrap around the joint—long, thin digits that betrayed a strength that propelled her upright, "You okay?"

It was another polo player, but with one glance, Kate felt her hopes rising—he was wearing the blue of Hume. "Yeah, I'm fine," she smiled warmly and tried to shrug it off, "Just hot, I guess. Must've misplaced my ridiculous hat."

He was handsome—dangerously handsome—and tall, with cropped brown hair and warm brown eyes. There was dirt smudged across one of his cheeks, but it looked deceptively good on him. Her mind gave a mental itch; he looked familiar…

"Jack Shephard," he introduced, and for the second time that afternoon, a hand shot out in greeting. Kate didn't even look down as she took it, as her heart had started beating a hundred times a second in sheer disbelief. _Jack Shephard, __**no**_. _**Not**__ Christian Shephard's son_. It was like stumbling across the mummy in the pyramid, or a Van Gogh original in a corner antique store—Jackson Shephard wasn't a very attention-seeking individual.

Jack blinked and looked down at their clasped hands, and then a wince crossed his features as he shrugged his own away, "Oh, I'm sorry, think I got some dirt on you there."

Kate had to look down, and did indeed notice the smear of earth. She thought it could have been Sawyer's. "Oh," she smiled, and tried to dust if off with her other hand, "Who knows where I got that. Probably from all that, you know, mulching I was doing a second ago."

Jack smiled a bit awkwardly, a little lost by the look of him, but seemed to accept her joke. Kate's smile almost faltered.

"Sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Oh!" Kate back-pedaled, "Right. Monica. Monica Callis." Kate sucked in a breath. She had honestly almost said her real name.

Jack chuckled, "Well, alright Monica Callis, what brings you to this awful excuse for a gathering?"

She had to appreciate his honesty, and forcing herself to relax, Kate pointed towards her midriff. "I was recruited, hello."

Jack laughed, and his voice was warm. "Well, then, I'm not sure we can be having this conversation. You are, after all, the enemy."

Grinning, Kate made a show of leaning in towards him, placing her hand on his forearm, "Actually…" she stage-whispered, "I'm not technically supposed to be here." Jack arched an eyebrow at her confession, but the smile still played across his face, "A friend of mine was invited, and couldn't make it, so he gave me the invitation."

Jack leaned back, and appraised her in mock solemnity, "You have my word, I'll take your secret to the grave."

Kate beamed at him. "I take it you're not often at these sort of things, or you would be giving me a harder time."

He chuckled, and the sound was rich from his throat. "I'm actually mostly in medicine," he explained, "Not that I'm allowed to practice much."

"You need more practice? Wow, maybe I should leave you now then." She touched his arm again, as he laughed.

"No, I'm just expected to maintain the Hume interest in the hospitals we're a part of now. I still get dragged into the occasional medical mystery…but mostly it's a lot of traveling. Setting up clinics and attending to board duties. It's not a very rewarding life."

She raised her eyebrows in his direction. "You really don't enjoy saving peoples lives?"

Jack shrugged in mock-humility. "_Well_, you know...when I can."

Kate found herself laughing.

"Oh, just admit it. You love the God complex."

That elicited another laugh from Jack, and this time, he took his time eyeing her from head to toe, letting her know exactly how appreciated her comments were.

Kate beamed at him, and then decided to press her luck. "Actually, I don't really know anyone here… Do you think you could introduce me to anyone?"

If Jack's smile hitched, it was almost imperceptible. But he took a longer pause than was comfortable, before nodding slowly.

"I actually couldn't say I know many people here besides family," Jack started walking, allowing Kate to follow alongside him. "And a lot of those people are doctors, too, so you know, inherently boring. But let's see…" Kate's heart leapt, feeling she was close.

…But it was the wrong family.

"Monica!" Claire was obviously relieved to see her, and the young girl's expression was open, "And—Jack! Wow, I didn't know that you knew Jack."

Kate slid her gaze towards him. If he had brought her here on purpose, it was very covertly hidden.

"Actually, we just met," the half-brother leaned in and kissed Claire's cheek, but she shrank away with playful disgust.

"Yuck, Jack! You're all dirty and sweaty."

"You say to the one who just helped us secure a victory?"

Claire rolled her eyes, and was about to speak, but whatever she was about to say was mute to Kate's ears. As walking towards them, making small talk as he passed people he knew, was the exact person she wanted to see.

"Oi, Jack, your father tells us we're to clean up for lunch," Desmond's wavy, light brown hair hung around his beaming face, and he was clearly reveling in his victory. His dark brown eyes were liquid intensity, like always, and his chin was covered in a sexy shade of stubble. What he lacked in height compared to his second cousin he made up in the confidence that he was wanted, and that he knew what was coming to him. He was walking magnetism—people couldn't help but be drawn in, to take an interest in the heir.

"_Good_," Claire injected, "Because you both smell _awful_."

Desmond grinned wickedly, and moved to tackle her, but Claire yelped and made a dive behind Kate, who tried to dodge but found the younger girl's arms locked around her waist.

"Oh, hello," Desmond's grin dropped as he seemed to just notice her. A flick of his eyes took her all in, and it made Kate feel suddenly bashful. "I'm not sure we've had the pleasure."

"I'm Ka—"

"It's Monica—"

Kate and Jack said at once, though Jack's voice was clearly louder.

Desmond smiled appreciatively. "Well, Monica, will we have the pleasure of lunching with you today?"

"Uh, actually," it was Jack who answered for her, and Claire used the distraction to disentangle herself from Kate's protective custody. "Dad says we're supposed to be splitting up for lunch."

Kate suppressed a thwarted frown, but barely, as Claire moaned. "Oh, but I wanted to share a table with you two…"

Desmond knocked her affectionately on the head, before his eyes glanced over Kate again. "You're forgetting our guest."

"**Freckles**!"

All eyes turned in the direction of the interruption, as the man from Alabama strode directly into their hearing range. _No!_ Kate's mind mentally panicked, as she fought to control a physical reaction, _No, not now! You'll ruin everything!_

"_Jeezus_, Freckles, I was looking for you everywhere. The ice all but damn near melted, so I had to drink what I got you myself."

Kate blanched, and turned back to the trio she was talking to, but they were in turn staring at the newcomer. Jack's gaze flickered between the two of them, the crease between his eyebrows deepening with every sweep. _Oh God_, she mentally moaned to herself, knowing exactly how this looked.

"Oh, I'm sorry brother, I didn't know we were keeping the lady." Desmond's voice was accommodating, too accommodating for Kate's intentions.

"Oh, sorry, this is…" Kate deliberately forgot everything about him in a heartbeat, willing him to never have existed and to merely _go away_, "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

Sawyer nodded to his fellow polo players, and his grin turned decidedly sardonic, "It's Ford, James Ford. People call me Sawyer." The others smiled obligingly, and Desmond took the duty of making his family's introductions.

"Were you looking for Monica?"

"Oh, yeah." Sawyer obviously had a hard time not staring at the beautiful blonde shifting awkwardly between her two male relations, and Kate inwardly shrank."Yeah, I told her to wait while I got her a drink, but she sorta got away from me…" he winked at Kate, and she felt worse.

"Sorry," said Jack, as Desmond smiled calmly. "We didn't mean to steal her away from you."

Kate forced a grin, "I guess I just don't respond well to authority."

They all laughed, though Sawyer's was a bit confused.

"Well, gentleman, I feel it's time we stopped delaying our well-earned lunch." Desmond interjected, and the three men left to the locker rooms after a final nod to the two women.

They had barely gone, when Claire raised her eyebrows at Kate suggestively, the implication clear. Kate just shook her head, slowly and definitely, indicating she wasn't at all interested in the man from Alabama.

* * *

As her luck would have it, Kate got stuck with Sawyer during lunch. The Hume men were called to the front table with the Widmores, the charming Penelope sitting calmly between the two Kate had just met. Claire managed to include her two new American friends at her table, albeit at the opposite end. Well, to be honest, Claire had _forced_ Kate (plus her straggler) to join her table, as it became clear that her father was intending her to socialize the meal away with her new step-mother, Nikki. The woman couldn't have been more than half a decade from either Kate or Claire's age, though she couldn't have been more different. Nikki laughed loudly, and oozed charm, and had something to abandon when she had joined the Hume empire; her modeling days had made her a short-list celebrity, and she knew it along with everyone else.

Claire, it became abundantly obvious, had trouble hiding her resentment towards the woman, and Kate found quickly that she couldn't blame her. The up-and-down Kate was beginning to expect at these sort of functions was cold, though Nikki had taken to Sawyer instantly, and he seemed to soak up her attention.

They had barely sat down when Kate noticed the caterers fussing a few yards away; it seemed that they had finally realized there was an uninvited guest in their midst. Kate felt her stomach plummet, and cast an angry glare at the unseeing Sawyer, feeling her hopes of ever getting close to a Hume male dissipate with his insistent association with her.

Lunch stretched languidly, and Kate found it hard to keep up her displeasure in the face of the best tasting food she'd had since leaving America. As her stomach filled quickly and pleasantly, she also found it harder to hold such a grudge against Sawyer, who couldn't be blamed for the way her life had turned out. _So what_, she found herself thinking, _What's one more blown chance? Enjoy it, Katie, while it's here. Let life come back tomorrow._

She soon found herself laughing at the stories he could tell about life back home, and his anecdotes about adjusting to his British vacation. Sawyer admitted he was only half-drafted for his skills as a polo player, but would be competing with the Widmores in most of the boat races over the course of the week. This part made her smile; the Hume-Widmore rivalry was legendary, and after today's polite formality of an event, the two clans would be avoiding each other for the rest of the week, until Friday's annual Firework Ball (an event _no one_ missed, three generations of not-so-friendly competition or no).

So Kate's smile was actually genuine by the time the last plates were whisked away, her laughter glittering under three different types of wine. As people started to stand from their tables and mingle for one last glass of sherry or port, Kate excused herself to the restroom.

Even this part of the party would be something she could never forget. The marble sinks were deep, the water luxuriously warm, and along the counters were rows and baskets of various lotions and perfumes, set out for the guest's disposal. Kate lingered, then selected a light and flowery fragrance, dabbing it to her wrists and inhaling the way it mixed pleasantly with her skin.

When she resurfaced, it was clear that people had already started to depart. Not so far away, she could see Desmond and his family: Claire, Jack, Christian and Nikki, each smiling obligingly as they chatted with their guests. The Widmores (most notably, Charles and his lovely daughter Penelope) were standing next to them, though it was clear that the two patriarchs were growing impatient with each other's company.

Kate didn't exactly notice, then, when Sawyer sauntered up to her, a glass of fine port wine in his hand.

"Hey there, Freckles, I'd thought you'd all but disappeared." Kate smiled to pacify him, but looked back towards the Humes, noticing with delight that Desmond had noticed her.

Sawyer leaned forward, just a bit, and breathed deeply. "Mmm," he murmured, "You smell _good_."

She wasn't sure what made her think to do it. Under other circumstances, she certainly wouldn't have, but Kate seemed to move in slow motion as she pulled her hand back, and then in one clean sweep, sent a _**slap**_ across Sawyer's cheekbone.

But it worked.

"How _dare_ you make such a—a _lewd_ suggestion!" Kate voiced with hushed venom, and the people within earshot turned to stare in shock.

Desmond and Jack had materialized at Sawyer's side.

"Sorry brother, but I think it's time for you to leave." Desmond's Scottish accent had run cold. "My cousin here will see you to the gate."

"Hey, now you wait a damn minute—" Sawyer started, his voice angry and confused.

"It's this way." Jack grabbed Sawyer's arm, but the blonde man resisted, his bewildered gaze searching out Kate's face. She couldn't look at him, had to turn away, and Sawyer's expression chilled as he finally understood. With a wounded expression Kate didn't see, he shrugged off Jack's grip, turned, and started to stalk away on his own. Jack followed him with a threatening frown.

"I'm terribly sorry about that, miss…Miss…"

"Monica Callis," Kate supplied, her voice sounding relieved even to her own ears, even if Desmond had forgotten her name. "And really, I'm fine."

"I'll take you inside." It was Claire, who had shown up at Kate's side without her realizing it.

"No." Kate tried to wave her off. "Really, I'm okay."

"But your dress…"

Kate looked down, and with budding horror realized that the once sunny satin was now stained with deep red port... There would be no getting that deposit back now. Nodding numbly, Kate allowed herself to be led inside, barely noticing that when she passed Christian and Nikki Shephard, both their gazes were coldly appraising.

* * *

**end notes: **Thanks for reading! Drop a review on your way out, if you can. Mostly I'm just afraid that these chapters are too long! Let me know if I should shorten them for easier reading...


	2. the subway that only goes one way

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part two: the subway that only goes one-way)  
****by:** AliLamba  
**rated:** T/PG-13, for language and innuendo  
**thanks again:** to MoonlightGardenias, for beta-ing  
**notes: **Well...hmm. I've been told there's not much Jate going on yet. I guess I didn't really think about it much, as it's going to be almost exclusively Jate in two chapters. Does that ruin suspense? Er...well...you'll be there soon enough anyway, so yes. I fail at life.

* * *

Kate wrapped the terrycloth robe around herself snuggly, rubbing the luxurious fabric against her cheek. This small gesture surely wouldn't go unappreciated, probably not for the rest of her life, and in the emptiness of Claire Hume's expansive bathroom, Kate could realize this in peace.

There was a knock on the door.

"Hey, Monica?" Kate inwardly flinched at the fake name. Now that she was in their confidence, she almost wanted to tell them, but that would defeat the entire purpose of her sneaking in there, and she had trust issues anyway. "Hey, Nikki's called some places in town and is having them send over some clothes…"

Kate gasped, and crossed quickly to open the door, "Oh, no, really, you guys don't have to do that."

Claire smiled pleasantly, and nodded in understanding, "Yeah, I had a hard time getting used to it too."

Feeling color rise to her cheeks, Kate quickly flicked her gaze to her painted pink toenails. She should really start counting on Claire as an ally—she certainly liked the young heiress enough, and it seemed like Claire was equally eager to have a friend. But there was something that got stuck in the middle, and Kate couldn't let herself be completely unguarded with the girl. "Do you think the wine will come out of my dress?"

"Oh," Claire's voice was now confident, "I'm sure it will. Carmen's very good." Kate didn't ask who Carmen was, but it was apparently a given. "Oh! I almost forgot," Kate's gaze flicked up, "Dad wants to meet you."

Kate drew attention to the oversize robe wrapped around her, "Uh, I don't think I'm really dressed for the occasion…"

"Ah, don't worry about it. You know Jack and Desmond won't care."

"Desmond?" the intonation was clear, and Kate knew it. Claire grinned.

"I should've known." Kate froze, but Claire's smile assuaged her anxiety in its understanding. "Even if it's a bit awkward, I can at least acknowledge that he's a charming guy," the blonde's nose wrinkled as she leaned in towards Kate, "You know, the first time I ever met him, he was so drunk he started hitting on me." Kate laughed. "Yeah, I was like: 'hello, cousin, you're not supposed to notice my butt, okay.'"

Kate laughed again, and Claire's grin widened in appreciation. "You know, I like you, Monica. I'm really glad I met you today."

Her smile was genuine as Kate responded: "Me too."

Claire's smile hitched as she rolled her eyes, "_God_, men, right? They can be so awful…"

Kate nodded, and agreed past the guilt that started to squirm in her gut, "Yeah, it should've been the prince we turned into a toad, right?"

They shared a laugh, and then Claire convinced Kate to go downstairs. Kate learned quickly that not only had the Humes rented the entire castle for the week, but they were the majoritave owners ("Well, I think so, anyway," Claire had amended quickly, as they headed down a flight of stairs, "Though it's a bit bizarre, because I think we have some real estate around here somewhere…").

It turned out, more than just Christian wanted to see her, as Nikki, Desmond and Jack all looked up with the older man when Claire and Kate pushed open the sitting room door. Kate quickly hid a smile of appreciation as she watched Desmond look her up and down, obviously pleased with her choice of attire.

"You must be Monica," the men all stood, but Christian approached her and took her hand. "I really would like to offer an apology on behalf of my entire family. We had thought the Widmores were a bit more evolved than that." Everyone chuckled, even Kate.

"You say that to a girl not wearing any shoes, Mr. Shephard." At Kate's playful tone, Christian blanched, then looked down at her feet, and then laughed.

"Hey! You didn't tell me the girl had wit!" The elder Shephard shared a look with his son, and Kate sent Jack a surprised smile. But then she saw his face. There was a curl to his lip, and his eyes were cold. With a sudden pitch of dreaded realization, she knew that she may have fooled everyone else, but not Jack.

"We'd be honored to have you for dinner, Miss Callis." Desmond was standing by his second-cousin, a plush sitting chair between them. She tried not to look at Jack. Would he stop her? Would he stop Desmond?

"Oh, no, really, I can't…" Kate protested lamely, though she could feel her cheeks coloring at the mere invitation. She suddenly felt light-headed, and though she knew she was the subject of everyone's gaze, Jack's burned against her neck.

"Nonsense," Nikki interjected, striding past her husband to clasp both Kate's hands in hers, "It's just us family, and none of us minds."

"Well…" Looking cautiously to Desmond, who was smiling graciously, Kate tried to look like she was still sheepish about the idea, "So long as it's a pajama party…"

Everyone laughed again (even Jack raised his eyebrows, as if he were amused), and the conversation lulled into a reflection of the afternoon's festivities. Christian wanted to make sure that Kate had caught a few of the finer plays his son (and Desmond) had made against the Widmores, and Kate relied on every last card she had to be as witty and charming as possible. Jack was eerily silent throughout the conversation, though she made everyone laugh a few times more, including Desmond, so by the time there was a discrete knock on the door announcing the arrival of a few boutiques with clothes for "Monica," Kate was feeling pretty confident.

Nikki and Claire cooed over the choices she made—a smart pencil skirt and elegant tank top for the afternoon, and then a dark blue charmeuse gown for dinner ("You'll look so much better in it than that _hag_ from that _movie_," Nikki assured her)—though Kate slowly came to realize that Claire's step-mother dwarfed her whenever they shared a room. It wasn't so much in looks, but in personality; Nikki seemed to make Claire feel awkward, and quiet, and if the elder noticed, she didn't go out of her way to change the dynamic.

The visiting boutiques had even provided some tasteful costume jewelry, shoes and purses, and didn't even broach the subject of payment. It wasn't like there would ever be anything as offensive as a price tag on any of the pieces, anyway.

The two Hume women left Kate to change, before they all headed out to a balcony to watch the sun set. Christian had obviously retired somewhere to do business, and if Kate thought that Nikki would seek out her husband when they stumbled across Jack and Desmond enjoying a drink, she didn't mention the thought as the older woman settled languidly into a deck chair and ordered a martini from a waiting server. Claire and Kate asked for lemonade.

Jack and Desmond, despite the arrival of the three women, were still adamant to discuss the day's polo match, as well as their chances for the rest of the week's boat races. Kate impressed them both with some obscure knowledge of some of the boats, and a few names of some of the past winners.

"You boat?" It had seemed like Nikki had been daydreaming, but her sudden question drew the attention back to her.

"Uh, just a few times. With family." Kate immediately shut up, not wanting to invite more questions about her past, invented or no. She might not have had to offer any more information about who she was other than her name, but that itself was only a matter of time. "And a bit in college."

"Oh, where did you go?" Claire asked.

"Um," Kate paused but a moment, "UCLA." She noticed Jack raise an eyebrow, though his gaze was fixed on the ice cubes at the bottom of his glass. "You know, Catalina…"

Nikki had an anecdote about the island, and thankfully, because Kate was starting to worry about sweating in her new clothes despite the pleasant breeze that kept them all cool.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kate could see Jack looking at her.

Too soon, Desmond was draining the last of his scotch and excusing himself ("Got to check on _Elizabeth_ before dinner," he admitted, referring to the boat they were racing every day that week), and then Nikki was standing as well, dragging Claire with her to get ready for the evening meal ("No, Monica, you stay here any enjoy yourself! Be glad you don't have any _expectations_ to fulfill," Nikki had said).

Kate chewed her lip awkwardly as she watched Claire disappear inside.

"It won't work, you know." Jack was peering at her, intensely, and Kate tried to look confused as she took a sip of her remaining lemonade.

"Excuse me?"

"You won't catch Desmond."

Kate's shoulders fell. _Oh…_ He had completely misunderstood, but who could really blame him, and how to explain? He thought her to be after the Hume heir, to somehow trap him, make him marry her, take care of her forever with his money and status. Hey, it didn't sound half-bad, even when she said it so sarcastically to herself. Kate put down her half-finished drink and stood, walking towards one of the many rose gardens that decorated the premises. She heard Jack follow suit.

"He's no idiot, you know. Even if he's charmed now, there's no way he'll be ignorant to your play forever."

Kate didn't dare try to change his mind. Jack was certainly no idiot either. Educated at Dartmouth, Oxford, and Yale, he had become a leading neuro-surgeon in almost half the time it took his father.

"You mean, you'll tell him," Kate's voice had lost all its mirth, though she kept her gait slow and steady.

"Oh no," Jack almost chuckled coldly, "No, I won't tell him. I don't think I'll have to."

Kate paused before a particularly breath-taking view along the path, and crossed her arm across her chest. She believed him when he said he wouldn't tell Desmond, but maybe he was right? Maybe it would only be a matter of time… Kate unconsciously sighed, and then turned to pin Jack with a glare.

"You know, I deserve a break."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, don't we all."

Her glare turning more venomous, Kate turned abruptly and continued down the garden path. "There's no way you could understand…" she started, bitterly, and then realized what she said was true.

"Right, play the pity card. Des' loves that," Jack's voice was dripping with sarcasm as he caught up with her, "Or did you know that already?" When she didn't respond, Jack only seemed to gather speed, "He may play around, Monica, but you should know now that Desmond will never settle down with you, or anyone." He didn't elaborate, and the effect was ominous, almost inviting Kate to question why.

"What if I wanted to be just another notch on his bedpost?" Kate leaned down to inspect one of the more pretty roses she had passed, of a deep purple color. The smell was enticing, and she had to touch the stem to bring it to her nose—but flinched with a sharp hiss as one of the thorns pierced her finger. Immediately she brought the offending digit to her lips, and sucked it roughly, instinctively turning towards the doctor she knew she was with.

Jack's eyes were trained on her mouth, a short-fused intensity focused in his gaze, and making Kate's lips go dry. In nothing but pure, unexpected shock, her finger dropped from her mouth, and she watched remotely as Jack reached over, and took her hand in his. She didn't know what she was expecting him to do with the injury, but it certainly wasn't to take the finger between his own lips, running his tongue over the small cut as a pressure drew out the blood. A shiver coursed down her spine that had nothing to do with the breeze.

Kate sucked in a slow breath, but then, the oxygen seemed to kick-start her brain. With barely two blinks, she ripped her hand out of his mouth, and cradled it with her own hand, applying the pressure she needed to bring her back to reality. Seeing her aghast and angry expression, Jack spat the blood into a bush of yellow roses, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She fixed him with a reproachful glare, but Jack merely grinned under the force of it. "You know, Monica, we can notch my bedpost any time."

Kate gasped at the unexpected proposal, and fought back the urge to slap him as well.

"I need a band-aid," she muttered, and swung in the opposite direction, skipping back towards the house as fast as she could in two-inch heels.

Nothing in her research had alluded to the fact that Jack was sexually promiscuous—that label usually referred to Desmond, whose face often appeared in those tabloids in the company of whatever 'it' actress or model happened to be around. But now that she thought about it, Jack always seemed to be photographed with women as well. A different context, of course—usually at some product launch, or a business deal, or fundraiser—but always accompanied by a beautiful woman nonetheless. And Desmond would sometimes allow for a streak of the same girl at a time, but she couldn't remember any mentioning of Jack in any sort of relationship… Kate shook her head, confused and put off, though low in her stomach, as much as she could deny it, there was a heady pool of awareness.

* * *

She took her time dressing for dinner, enjoying it when Claire joined her in applying make-up. They really did seem to get along pretty well, and Claire was gregarious when not in her step-mother's company. Kate almost questioned why, but resisted, not wanting to pry too early in their friendship.

They went down to dinner together, where Kate realized that 'family' came to include more than the five people she was expecting. Claire seemed ready for them though, suffering a small sigh before joining the throng of people she recognized. Kate stayed off to the side, and used the time to inspect some of the objects decorating the impressive foyer.

"Do you like art?" Kate swung around at the heavy Scottish accent, and was more than pleased to find Desmond standing a few feet behind her.

"Oh," she started, unintelligently, "I don't really know much about it."

Desmond accepted the invitation, and strode up next to her. He pointed out a painting that hung on the wall in an ornate black frame. "That's Jackson Pollock's Number Eight, 1949," he started. "He conned my great-uncle into buying it—telling him he was broke, when really he was just trying to get off the ground."

Kate smiled at the anecdote, though her insides clenched. _Did he know?_ "It's a beautiful painting."

"Eh," Desmond contemplated, scratching the back of his neck as he gave the splatter painting a weary glance, "I think I'm more for the classics." He smiled at her, and Kate relaxed when it looked genuine.

"Will you be staying in Cowes all week, then?"

Kate nodded, using the painting as something to focus on, "Yup, I'll be here till Saturday." She flashed him a winning smile, which she hoped was inviting. It was.

"Well, then I should expect that we'll see you at the boat race tomorrow, cheering us on."

"I hope to," she admitted.

"You will." It was Jack, who had suddenly appeared at Kate's other shoulder. "On _The_ _Pearl_," he clarified, when he was noticed. "Everyone will be watching from the ocean, so you'll have to be on a boat. Naturally, Claire's expecting you to join the family on our yacht. The one that isn't competing, of course."

Kate was taken aback by her luck. "Won't it get in the way of the races?"

Both men chuckled. "No," Desmond explained, "That's part of the fun, avoiding all the trade and leisure ships that crowd the Solent."

The two men both started to describe the race for the next day, and Kate listened attentively. She couldn't help but find herself staring at Jack's face, as she unconsciously questioned every muscle movement. Had Claire really invited her, or was Jack setting up some grand scheme to expose her?

Nikki interrupted them, mid-sentence, to announce dinner. Then she turned on Kate.

"_Monica_, I didn't know that you cleaned up so nicely."

Kate's back went rigid as the cool, subtly spiteful tones washed over her. She wasn't expecting that, but Nikki's opinion was abundantly clear: the woman wasn't used to being upstaged in front of her step-son and cousin-in-law, least of all by a newcomer in a borrowed dress. Kate fixed an equally cold smile on her face.

"It sure beats a bathrobe."

Desmond chuckled, breaking the ice, and the four met Claire and entered into the dining room. Kate instantly saw with displeasure that she was seated at the opposite end of the table from everyone else, next to a dark-haired Brazilian who looked equally unhappy with his seating arrangements. As the man made furtive glances to Mrs. Shephard (who was very carefully avoiding his gaze), it was very clear that Nikki had made some final placement adjustments.

Claire almost cursed aloud when she realized, but under Jack's watchful eye, Kate was sure to calm her, assuring that they she would scarf down her dinner as fast as she could. It was with a sour expression, however, that Kate took her seat next to the young foreign gentleman.

"Hi, I'm Monica," she introduced, to which the other man responded with the name Paulo. It turned out that he wasn't there by relation, either, though when pressed, he avoided discussing his own family, merely stating that he was a chef who had known the Humes for years. Well, at least, Kate was pretty sure that's what he was saying. His accent was heavy, his English hard to discern, and Kate's attempt at Portuguese only made him laugh.

They quickly realized, however, that they both had cards they wanted to play, as their conversation turned intentionally animated, and they laughed a little too freely at each other's jokes. It seemed to have the desired affect, however. Nikki was having trouble concentrating on her husband, so busy was she sending furious glances down at the pair. Desmond's head was also turned once or twice, Kate's laughter having filtered nicely with the clinking of silverware and glasses.

Kate was decidedly _sated_ by the time the last plate was cleared, knowing that it would be a very long time before she had two such rich, full meals in one day. She wondered idly if the Humes were ones for cigars in parlor rooms after dining, but was glad to find that they weren't so old-fashioned. Instead, everyone calmed their stomach with a fine stroke of port wine of the Hume's own vintage as they settled throughout the dining room and foyer, saying quiet goodbyes for the evening, placing good-natured bets on the next day's races.

She was inordinately pleased when Desmond brought her over a cup of coffee. "I'm sorry you were seated so far away, Monica," he told her, his Scottish lilt making her insides melt just a little.

"Oh, it wasn't so bad."

"These things do tend to be a bit boring, I know."

"No, it's okay, I got to practice my…_Port-o-guey-sa_," Kate tried to pronounce, making Desmond laugh. They descended quietly into conversation, as Kate probed him for more information about the races the Humes were planning on participating in that week, which of them they were planning to win. After so much good food and wine, Kate found even herself brilliant, and she was pleased to make Desmond laugh a few times more. Eventually, they realized that all but a few close family members were left, and Desmond had to excuse himself to wish his more intimate good-byes.

"You looked like you were having fun." Jack had snuck up on her again, and Kate cursed under her breath and blamed it on being so happy just a moment before. Jack's face wasn't as pleasant as Desmond's, not by any stretch, but he still managed to draw her away from the crowds of family members. Kate looked wistfully to where Desmond was affectionately kissing an elderly woman's cheek.

"It looks like you might be wrong about your second cousin's type," Kate argued, taking a swift sip of her coffee, though it had gone cold.

Jack chuckled at about the same temperature, "Oh no, I know Desmond's type very well." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, "And trust me when I say that there are no wedding bells in your future."

Kate's smile hardened, though she didn't respond.

"If I offered you the fare home, would you take it?" His question was casual, and any onlooker would assume that it had been about something innocuous, like the weather. But it hit Kate like a rock to her stomach, and she had to swallow hard.

Would she go home? _No_, she answered just as quickly. There was nothing to go home to, except…_except_… Kate hadn't realized that she'd been silent, but Jack's voice brought her back.

"I didn't think so."

Kate turned to him, her eyes intentionally cheerful, forcing a southern accent, "I don't often depend on the kindness of strangers."

Jack sneered. "No, you only lie to them."

Kate didn't have a response to that. Thankfully Claire provided a welcome interruption.

"Hey, Paulo's driving back into town, and he's offered to give you a ride." A glance to the Brazilian man proved that he was none too pleased to be leaving, and he and Nikki were sharing scowls and very hushed conversation. She seemed to suddenly dismiss him with finality, and Paulo approached the trio, fixing an obvious smile to his face.

"_Mowneecah_, are you ready? I would be happy to take you if you are ready to go."

Jack almost cut him off, "No, thank you. Monica is our guest; we'll make sure she makes it home alright." Kate felt a wave of panic rise up her throat. She didn't want _anyone_ to take her home. Or "home" was more like it—she didn't think a sleeping bag in an attic she secretly shared with three other women constituted as a place where her heart was.

Paulo gave a wavering glance to Kate, but then shrugged casually, not leaving before he made a grand show of taking Kate's hand and kissing the back of it softly. As soon as he was out of earshot, Kate looked around the room for a phone. "I'll call a cab."

"Monica! No, goodness no," Claire rebuffed, looking imploringly as her half-brother. "Jack will take you home."

Kate's insides froze.

"Jack's been drinking," it was Nikki, having slunk away from whoever had been occupying her time. "Let _Desmond_ take her." She practically purred his name.

"Desmond's been drinking, too," Jack pointed out.

"Aye, but my chauffeur hasn't." Desmond had appeared just behind Nikki, and he was smiling warmly at Kate. "We'll be glad to see you home."

Kate's heart soared, but she found herself looking at Jack, as if for confirmation. She realized it a moment too late, and her eyes connected with the doctor's for a mere moment, before she stepped towards his second cousin.

"Thank you, that would be most, most kind."

* * *

Kate and Desmond chatted amiably on the ride back into the heart of Cowes, as his driver took them to a trendy summer home block not too far from Kate's attic. Desmond found it deadly amusing that she was sure a Widmore would take tomorrow's Farr 45 race. He seemed to be a little too buzzed to ask her any more questions about her personal life, though, as instead his comments were bordering on innuendo. Kate wanted to press that line, but then realized he could ask himself in…for the night… So she contented herself to be as witty as possible, and when they pulled up to the curb, Desmond let her out and led her to one of the doors.

"Really, I can't thank your family enough," Kate whispered, earnestly. "Everything was just…was just…well," she finished lamely.

Desmond chuckled, "Aye, we get that a lot."

Kate felt herself blush. Would he try to kiss her? The mood seemed right for it… A careful breeze brushed their hair, and the soft glow of a streetlamp softened their features. She had drunk enough so that she could feel it warm in her stomach, and unconsciously, Kate leaned forward…

"Well, goodnight, Monica."

Kate straightened, a little surprised, "Oh, yes, goodnight…Desmond."

If the lights weren't so dim, Kate would have seen a certain amount of regret crease the corner of his eyes, as if he were remembering something not so far away. But instead, she only saw him nod to her politely, then climb back into his waiting car. Kate made sure they were out of sight before walking the few blocks, where she discretely whispered to wake her flat mates. Quietly, they let down the key, so that Kate could let herself in and make her way up the creaky stairs past the landlord's room, who was so luckily in the habit of drinking himself to sleep every night.

Naomi and the other girls wanted to know all about how it had went, and she entertained their whims after they turned off the lights and Kate settled into her sleeping bag. Relieved to hear herself called to by her real name for the first time all day, and relishing in the feeling that the day had gone well, Kate realized as she drifted off to sleep that she felt comfortable, _really comfortable_, for the first time since leaving America.

* * *

A stranger watched from the darkened sidewalk, as the lights in the small attic went out. If they were surprised to find themselves there, it was nothing compared to the whispered call and the dropped key. But most of all, it was what they called her.

_Kate?_

A smile curled their lips as the stranger beat a hasty retreat, a practical spring in their step. _This_…This was _very interesting_.

* * *

**end notes: **...eh, no, I don't have anything. Drop a review if you're not too busy...?


	3. the stupid thing that'll come to pull us

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part three: the stupid thing that'll come to pull us apart)  
****by:** AliLamba  
**thanks again:** to MoonlightGardenias, for beta-ing once more!  
**notes:** This is my favorite chapter thus far, most probably because it's an entire departure from the story—a whole new day I've added to the timeline. Everyone got the Nikki/Paulo thing, right? I was debating—Shannon could have probably made an equally nice mean-lady-wife, but I didn't want too many characters crowding my scenes (Boone just can't leave her alone…), and to be honest, I had already added two characters to the original's set. Maybe they'll make an appearance later on, I wonder…Bah, let's not get ahead of ourselves, Ali. Oh, and if you were wondering why I chose Claire, out of all the castaways…well… :D

* * *

Kate dressed cheerfully the next day, in clothes that were actually hers: a pair of clean, well-worn jeans that used to fit her better (since when had she lost weight?), and a decent, monochrome t-shirt (they would be on a boat, after all). Maybe, she hoped, her outfit would even convince one of them to help her sail something. Maybe it would impress Desmond, a little bit.

The car was expected to pick her up at eleven, but Kate had to sneak out of the boarding house at eight, before the grouchy landlord's equally grouchy wife forced him out of bed.

Waiting on the random stoop turned out to have a negative effect on her mood, as did the skipped breakfast, as they both allowed her to dwell on her poor excuse for luck. She was picking idly at her sneaker when she heard the limo pull up, and Kate looked up expectantly when she heard the click of a heel against the stone sidewalk.

It was Nikki.

Had she been expecting Desmond?

The young wife was giving her a look, that clearly betrayed abject dismay.

"Are you _wearing_ that?"

Kate looked down at her own clothes, then took in Nikki's bright white ensemble. All certainly designer, they were cut at angles that would make Kate's plain, flat body look ridiculous. Nikki had always been perfect for high fashion. She had high cheekbones, flawless skin (certainly no freckles there…) and the sort of body that was actually feminine. The worst part was, none of it looked plastic.

Suddenly, the car door opened on the other side of the limo. Claire popped her head over the roof.

"Oh Monica, I should've told you—" she lamented, "Do you have anything you could change in to?" Her doe-eyes turned towards the building behind where Kate stood, and panic flooded her system.

"_Jesus_, Claire, she'd make us later than we already are."

Claire almost sagged out of Kate's vision, but instead she meekly offered, "You can borrow something on the boat." Her blue-green eyes sought Kate's, and Kate tried to smile reassuringly.

"Thanks," she murmured, as they all climbed in.

Kate felt like an idiot. Of _course_ there would be no actual sailing for the guests, she thought, as they pulled up to the marina. They boarded a speedboat, which Nikki quickly claimed as her own as she lounged along the back cushions, and it took them to the family yacht.

_The Pearl_, it proclaimed loudly, and Kate thought that it certainly must be precious. Well over a hundred meters long, Kate could count at least three levels, and it well dwarfed any other boat in the water. There was already a smattering of smaller crafts crowding its edges in the water, as people were already climbing aboard the luxury yacht. Kate looked nervously at Claire. They all were exquisitely dressed, and obviously for a party. Kate felt the urge to try and hide herself.

She needn't have worried, as the minute they were on board, Claire whisked her off to some sort of private chamber, and helped Kate change into something more appropriate: a pair of navy slacks, creased and folded at the hem, a nice, short-sleeved satin blouse, and a wide-brimmed straw hat to match. Kate almost laughed when she saw the head piece, and Claire had to laugh with her. Of all the ridiculous formalities that went into attending a party like this on a yacht like this, the gloves and hat ordeal was a bit old-fashioned.

They had barely made it onto the main deck, and accepted their standard flute of sparkling white wine, when Claire pulled her hurriedly aside.

"Okay, I have a favor to ask you."

Kate froze, unsure how to respond. She wasn't so sure she was ready to give out favors just yet.

"There's this concert tonight…Drive Shaft?" she phrased it almost as a question, probing whether Kate had heard of the band. She hadn't, and her face seemed to express as much. "Well, I really, _really_ want to go, but dad won't let me unless I have someone to go with."

Kate looked over the younger girl's face. She really did look earnest to go, and despite holding onto some sort of hope that she could spend that time with Desmond…

"It'll be a really good show! And I can get us back-stage passes…"

"Yeah, of course I'll go." Claire beamed, and looked like she wanted to hug her, so Kate grinned defensively. "I need somewhere to wear jeans to, anyway."

"Oh, yes, definitely, _definitely_ we'll be wearing jeans."

"And you promise, _promise_ no ridiculous hats?"

Claire laughed, "Ridiculous hats…optional."

The two girls grinned, and started to mingle amongst the party, and by the time it had come to sit down to a light lunch, they were already sharing private jokes. Kate was already starting to absorb some of the nausea that came with having Nikki around, and felt it when the older woman found them munching on fruit salad in the dining room.

"Monica!" she cried when she found them, "I've been looking for you."

Kate almost choked on a piece of melon. "You have?"

"Yes, I had a question…about your boating history."

The melon turned to brick on its way down her throat.

"Mm-hm?"

"…What the hell is a spinnaker again?"

Kate almost laughed, and then, relieved, explained that it was a type of sail. "We should see a lot of them today, with the winds what they are."

Nikki nodded, though her gaze was penetrating. Then she leaned forward and gave Kate a playful nudge, "Jeez, _Monica_, how do you know these things?"

Kate stared hard overboard, mind blurred over the different boats that crowded the water. "Like I said," she offered, "You know, college."

"Yeah, but _how_," Nikki pressed.

"Well, um—"

"_It's starting_!" All three women turned sharply to the sound of the voice, an over-excited businessman's wife pointing off the bow. People started to crowd towards her, pulling out small pairs of binoculars or merely shading their eyes, though all gazes focused on the large concentration of huge colored sails a few miles away. Kate and Claire headed off to the side of the group, as Nikki almost ran to meet her husband.

There was a collection of _oohs_, and gasps as boats struggled to surpass each other, displaying various levels of skill. There was one particularly horrific moment, when the mast of one of the lesser-known boats snapped under too much sail in too much wind, sending some of the sailors diving into the ocean to avoid its fall.

_Elizabeth_ and the Widmore boat, the _Uxorious III_, seemed to have eyes only for each other. The _Uxorious_ crew was thriving off their first-place win the day before, but the _Elizabeth_'s crew, having taken the previous day off, was fresher, their actions more motivated by a need to prove themselves.

Neither of them won, however. While both trying to outstrip each other for a particularly good current, a first-time boat surpassed them, and was able to maintain its lead. The _Elizabeth_ came in at a close second, the Widmores trailing them by mere meters.

Christian seemed disappointed at first, but made a gracious show of optimism, allowing everyone to relax as more wine was served. Eventually, a few key players of _Elizabeth_'s crew were weaving their way towards _The Pearl _in a speedboat, and everyone was sure to give them a hero's welcome. Speeches were made, congratulatory pats on the back, and then a band set up to while away a few more hours on the Hume yacht.

Kate managed the courage to approach Desmond, after Claire went off to find her half-brother.

"Congratulations," Kate offered, a winning smile gracing her features. Desmond smiled in return.

"Aye, she did well today," Desmond answered, referring to his boat.

They walked leisurely around _The Pearl_'s railing, as Kate allowed Desmond to recount the trickier moments of directing his crew, asking her own questions where appropriate.

"There's something I don't understand," Kate finally admitted, "How is it that you guys didn't race yesterday? Aren't you in dead last?"

Desmond laughed openly, and then shook his head. "Oh no. Our category's judged on six days out of eight, so we used yesterday to give our competition some false optimism."

"Oh…" Kate nodded, then grinned, "That puts a lot of pressure on the rest of the week. Are you sure you guys can handle it?" Her tone was playful, challenging. Desmond took the bait, and grinned conspiratorially at her.

"Is that doubt I hear in your voice?"

"Hey, I'm just saying…it's going to be a stressful week."

Desmond laughed again, enjoying himself, but if he was about to speak again, he didn't get the chance. Christian was approaching them, two men Kate didn't recognize flanking his sides. They turned out to be distant Hume relatives, and business partners, though all three men tended to ignore her as they shared in gloating over the _Elizabeth_'s race. Kate excused herself politely, to the ladies room, and was glad to see that Desmond didn't take kindly to her abandoning him.

She almost ran into Claire and Jack on her way to refresh her glass of wine.

"I really don't think you should be going to this concert tonight alone." Jack was saying, and Claire was practically whining in protest.

"But I _won't_ be alone!" her voice was hushed, but the spite was evident, "_Monica_ will be with me."

There was a heavy pause, and then: "No. I'm coming with you."

"_Jack!_" Claire objected, "_No!_ You don't even _like_ Drive Shaft, and you'll only ruin it for those of us that _do_."

"You won't even know that I'm there."

"_No_."

"_Yes_."

Kate fought to stifle a laugh. Even if they had only known each other for less than half a year, they still bickered like life-long siblings. Evidently, she was overheard.

"Monica!"

Kate threw up her head, clearly caught, and then tried to give a tiny wave.

"Monica, _Jack_ wants to come with us tonight."

Jack gave his sibling a taunting grin. "No, I _am_ coming with you tonight."

His sister huffed, more than a little annoyed, and looked to Kate in pleading. "_Please_ help me convince this oaf that he is _not_ cool enough to do go to a Drive Shaft show?"

Kate couldn't help but grin, as she looked Jack up and down. He noticed her evaluating him, and raised a curious eyebrow, the careful dare obvious. Kate could feel it rising in her throat, on the tip of her tongue, ready to offer a semi-innocuous jibe at his expense. But then she realized how helpless she was to him, how with a mere sentence he could expose her and crumble her budding friendship with Claire, and her chance at getting to know Desmond.

So Kate shrugged indifferently. "Hey, who am I to judge? If he wants to come, let him come." Claire gaped at her, as if she was expecting back-up. "At least we'll have someone to save us if we OD backstage." Claire brightened at this idea, but her half-brother was less than amused.

He raised the hand that was holding his champagne flute, and pointed a threatening finger at her. "You are _not_ doing that."

Both girls giggled at Jack's expense, but then Claire was asked to dance, and with a bit lip in Kate's direction, she was whisked off to the main deck-turned-dance floor.

"Any luck wasting your time?"

Kate cringed, and tried to look around for someone to ask _her_ to dance. "Actually," she bit back, throwing a subtle glare at Jack, "thing's are going pretty well."

His grin twisted in response, but he kept his eyes trained on the dancing couples littering the deck. "How's your finger?"

"My what—?" Kate started antagonistically, before she remembered. Her skin crawled at the sudden memory that surfaced. "It's fine," she answered, "Even if it was _infected_." The last word she enunciated clearly, letting him know exactly what she thought of him. Jack let out a hollow chuckle.

"Oh, I can be very _infectious_ when I want to be."

Kate's eyes widened at the subtle suggestion, and she couldn't help but stare at him in shock.

"Now Monica, you don't want to attract flies." Kate's mouth clamped shut, and she glared at him dangerously. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "I'll get you a drink."

"No, _don't_." She snapped, "I don't feel like being poisoned today." Angrily, she brushed past him towards the bar, not seeing where she was going until she nearly ran right into Desmond.

"Whoa…" he murmured, catching her around the waist. Kate's limbs froze, and she felt the color rushing her cheeks. "You alright, Miss Monica?"

Kate smiled, trying to swallow her anger and pride, and struggled to withhold the triumphant glare she wanted so desperately to throw back at Jack.

Desmond, she convinced herself, was the true gentleman. And if she ever lived to tell the world anything, it would be that. "Ask me to dance?" she braved, her voice not hopeful, but almost assertive. Desmond's smile was a bit slow in responding, but it was no less brilliant, and he nodded.

"Alright."

This time, Kate couldn't resist the victorious grin she cast back at Jack, the feeling of success only doubling when she saw his sour expression.

_Watch me_, she wanted to taunt him, instead contenting herself to be a perfect dance partner, even if Desmond did step on her toes once or twice.

She noticed that once apart from his presence, Jack was approached by an emboldened female almost immediately, and another one only appeared as Desmond graciously led her off the dance floor at the song's end. The observation didn't sit well with her. Couldn't they see that Jack was a malodious heel, and that he deserved to suffer?

Claire demanded her attention after that, and Desmond bowed out, citing business, to allow the two girls their privacy. They cooed the minute he was out of earshot, Claire wanting to know all about how they danced, an assuring smile gracing her features as Kate recounted their conversation from earlier. Eventually, the party began to wind down, the recurring buzz of motorboats departing from _The Pearl_ in growing numbers. Claire led Kate on a mini-tour of the yacht, showing her the squash courts, the indoor swimming pool, the steam room and massage room. Claire found a swimming suit for Kate, and they both lounged on the deck for awhile, Kate trying to entertain herself with the glossy magazines Claire seemed so fascinated by.

"It's just so weird, you know?" Claire explained, "I like, _know_ half these people now."

As the sun headed lower against the horizon, the girls packed up, Claire heading back to her room for a nap ("Nikki got me up at like, _six_ this morning, just to get ready.") as Kate decided to explore the sauna. Using one of the showers to change out of the bathing suit, she slipped clandestinely into a towel, and after spending a few minutes at the controls of the room, stepped inside. Steam started to billow almost immediately, and it took Kate a moment to adjust her breathing to the thick, hot air. Within minutes, the room was completely fogged, and Kate allowed herself to relax where she sat against the stone tiles, opening her towel against the heat as no one seemed to be joining her.

She almost jumped out of her skin, then, when the glass door _whooshed_ open, sucking out a healthy pocket of steam.

It was Desmond and Jack. They were laughing as they stepped inside together—clearly sharing a joke—before they both stopped at Kate's surprised gasp.

"_Monica_?" Jack guessed, and then, both of them peering through the thick haze, they recognized her. Kate was trying to glue the towel against her torso, tugging at the edges to try and make them longer, though the skimpy piece of terrycloth could do nothing to maintain her dignity.

"Oh, I'm sorry miss, we thought we were alone."

Kate wanted to stand, but didn't think she would be sufficiently covered, so she shifted meekly where she sat.

"It's fine," she amended, inviting them to sit. As they got closer, she saw that they were very much naked from the waist up, a thin sheen of sweat already covering their skin (obviously they had just shared a game of squash). With widening eyes, she noticed that covering Jack's upper left arm was a strange and inticrite tattoo. Kate wasn't sure how to process this information, so she decided to ignore it, instead allowing herself to focus on the lean muscles defining Desmond's chest.

She wondered briefly if they would try to shed their towels, but they adjusted accommodatingly when they sat.

"So," Kate ventured, once silence had descended too quickly for her liking, "do you guys ever slow down?"

Both men chuckled at that, though they found nothing to say. The air became thick with more than just steam, and Kate suddenly realized she could use this opportunity to get closer to Desmond. But then, of course, there would be no getting rid of Jack. He'd made it clear that he was going to enjoy her attempts (even if his idea of her intentions was wrong), and no amount of heavy hinting would stir him.

The intercom buzzed from the space near the door.

"_Mr. Shephard_?" a feminine voice called, and they all looked up expectantly at the interruption.

"Yes?"

"_There's a phone call for you sir, from the hospital. They say it's urgent_." Jack frowned at this information, but stood, and crossed quickly out the door.

Kate couldn't believe her luck. Yes, some poor person was probably dying right now, but who cared? She was alone with Desmond! Sneaking him a covert glance, she cleared her throat.

"Hey, no funny ideas now. I know where the intercom is."

Desmond chuckled at this, but he opened his eyes to look at her. And then he _looked_ at her. Kate felt giddy all of a sudden, and tried to subdue her smile, but couldn't hide her excitement when Desmond slid closer to her. She only hoped the steam wouldn't make her look too foolish.

"Monica, I'm really glad to have met you." She loved the way he said the name, and even if it wasn't really hers, she would take it. His body was angled towards her, their shoulders maybe a foot apart, and Kate suddenly had to retrain her breathing.

"I'm glad to have met you too," she admitted.

"I'm sorry I didn't kiss you last night."

Kate almost stopped breathing altogether, as all remembrance of her original objective flew out the window. He was hitting on her now, really, really hitting on her, and Kate wanted to melt from it.

"Oh, why dwell on the past?" she murmured dramatically, teasingly, leaning towards him as well, "When you can fix it now?"

Desmond's eyes glittered as he smiled, and he needed no further invitation. Kate wouldn't let herself breathe, as Desmond Hume, heir to half the world, touched her chin, and tilted her face towards his, wetting his lips in clear anticipation…

"Oh, sorry, I thought I forgot my watch."

Whatever they were doing ground to a screeching halt, as they became aware at the same time that Jack had appeared in the doorway.

Kate's eyes were aflame as she and Desmond jumped back from each other, Desmond looking sheepish at having been caught being romantic. Kate was livid, and in her mind, she could just _see_ the voyeur of a surgeon waiting on the other side of the glass door, just _waiting_ for the perfect opportunity to annihilate their moment.

Desmond tried to laugh, though it was obvious to all three that the action was forced. "You, uh, you left it in the locker room, brother."

Jack didn't move, allowing steam to tumble out of the room. "You know, now that I remember, I think you're right."

Not caring how she looked anymore, realizing that her encounter with Desmond was irrevocably ruined for now, Kate stood, seething, and started towards the door. "I think my fingers are getting wrinkly," she explained, throwing a shy smile over her shoulder, before decisively _bumping_ into Jack's. If she thought the move would win her points, she miscalculated poorly, as the movement jarred the knot that held her towel together, and it unraveled in half a second.

Kate almost yelped when her front felt the exposure of cool air, and she stumbled to get it right over herself. But the damage, however lighthearted, had already been done. Jack and Desmond were laughing, the hearty, relieved chuckles from the expulsion of tension. Kate felt embarrassed, and angry, and she kept the water as hot as it would go as she showered off the sweat afterwards.

She had almost forgotten how much she _hated_ the Humes. They were all stuck-up, and entitled, all of them, and she vowed that for as long as she knew them, she wouldn't allow herself to forget that fact again.

_Especially_ when it came to Jack.

* * *

The events of the steam room only made the drive to the concert more unbearable. Kate was now more comfortable, yes, in her own jeans and well-worn t-shirt, but she had to endure Nikki's curious stare over their light dinner, and something about it made her uncomfortable. Desmond had tried to be more friendly towards her, kissing the back of her hand in an effort to tell her that what had happened that afternoon hadn't diminished her in his eyes, going so far as to say that he anticipated seeing her the next day to watch the _Elizabeth_ compete again.

But the car ride across town, in which she was forced to sit between the silently gloating Jack and the dancing, excitable Claire was making Kate more irritable than she wanted to let on. It didn't help that Claire had insisted on making them both listen to all her favorite Drive Shaft songs on the way over, singing along a bit off-key to the parts she knew by heart. Jack was trying to look amused as she skipped around two albums, but it was clear he was getting a bit annoyed himself.

He practically jumped out of the car when they arrived at the outdoor stage, and Claire wasn't far behind. They had missed one band, whichever one had opened for the headlining Drive Shaft, and it was obvious by the excited murmuring of the crowd already gathered that the main attraction was about to go on.

Kate was right. As soon as they were all standing together, surveying where to stand out the show, the lights on the stage switched off, allowing for ominously thrilled screams from the gathered audience. Jack was eyeing some of the platforms off to the side, and Kate was with him there, but Claire obviously had her own intentions. Grabbing them both by the arm, she dragged them into the jumping throng as the first strains of an electric guitar could be heard in the dark. The young girl didn't stop, either, until they were mere meters from the stage, and they made it just in time to experience the lights blasting on as the entire band joined the guitarist in playing at once.

It became clear, as one song bled into the other, that this scene wasn't for Jack _or_ Kate. Claire was happily oblivious, and Kate was happy for her, but being shoved repeatedly into strangers wasn't exactly something Kate could ignore or enjoy, and the tousling was slowly giving her a headache.

Half an hour through, she had just about had enough, and she started to eye the exits enviously, barely resisting the urge to start pushing people back. She was about to yell this to Claire, who was eagerly screaming along to the Drive Shaft hit, "You All (or Are, or friggen Something) Everybody," when Kate became suddenly aware. Aware of someone, very tall, and very male, pressing against her back, his stoic stillness allowing Kate to still herself, even if the masses were still gyrating wildly around them. She didn't need to turn around to know it was Jack, but his voice reached her ears, anyway.

"_Don't_," he whispered, "I'll protect you."

Kate was about to whip around, to tell him very well that she didn't _need protecting_, but he seemed to be anticipating this. His hands settled on her waist, and through the thin cotton of her shirt, Kate could feel the heat. Her heart hammering in her chest, Kate stiffened. Even if she could already feel her headache receding, she didn't want him to be the cause of it, and a mini-war erupted in her brain. The side that appreciated the lack of physical pain won out, and Kate convinced herself that she was _using_ Jack, and that he wasn't _helping_ her. She didn't want Claire to see them, but she needn't have worried—the girl was so busy ogling the band members that Kate would've been surprised if she had noticed a tidal wave.

Slowly, despite her best efforts, Kate relaxed against (not _into_) Jack's frame, allowing him to at least take the brunt of the crowd's rioting. She couldn't stop herself from feeling anxious, however, that he would try to press something upon her—something like what he had alluded to almost every time they had been alone. But he seemed to lose his edge when she wasn't the only one within earshot, and in the presence of Claire, he didn't try anything.

The band played into two encores (one being that song that had Claire screaming at the top of her lungs), but Drive Shaft eventually bowed out, and Kate wriggled away from Jack the minute the lights came up. She felt surprisingly drained from the day, and Kate didn't know why, but as Claire rounded on them both wielding their back-stage passes, Kate noticed with a hint of satisfaction that Jack looked even more exhausted.

"Claire…" his voice was trying to reason, or at least let her down gently, "I have a race to win tomorrow."

His sibling's face fell when he said it, but then her eyes lit upon Kate. "Then Monica can come with me! I can even stay at her place tonight!"

Kate froze, "Oh, I don't think that's such a good—"

"No, you'll be coming home right now before—"

She and Jack had both tried to speak at once, and Claire looked curiously between the two of them as they both stuttered into silence at the same time. The blonde shook off whatever confusion she had just as quickly.

"Jack, _no_, I'm serious on this one," she said, and her glare proved that she was. "You can just go home, alright? Me and Monica will be _fine_."

Kate wanted to sigh, as she came to realize what she was about to say.

"Yeah, Jack, I'll make sure she comes home."

Claire beamed sunshine at Kate, and Kate noticed, but when both girls turned to Jack, they both had fixed combined forces puppy-dog pouts to their faces.

Jack tried to glare decisively, but he had trouble deciding which one he wanted to be more exasperated with, and it was with a very heavy sigh that he finally relented.

"_Fine_, but I'm sending a car to wait by the entrance. And if you both aren't home by one, then I'm coming back to get your myself."

Kate recoiled at the authority in his voice, but Claire was apparently unphased by his demands. "Done!"

Claire grabbed Kate's hand before the brunette could stop to argue, and with one last, conflicting look into Jack's returning gaze, Kate was forced to follow in the younger girl's wake.

* * *

It was two hours later, and Kate was starting to grow anxious. She hadn't seen Claire in almost forty-five minutes, and she was sick of watching three of the members of Drive Shaft coax girls into their laps and snort cocaine. With a glance to a clock on the wall, Kate realized that it was almost 12:30, and with the expectation that it would take them twenty minutes to get back to Claire's house, Kate had to finally stand up.

"_Claire_!" she whispered furiously, as she made her way through one of the alleyways between the tents that had been set up backstage. "_Claire, it's time to go!_ _Jack said—_"

But then: giggling, hanging off the shoulders of the _fourth_ member of Drive Shaft—and obviously inebriated—Claire tumbled out of one of the black tents.

"_Monica!_" she stage whispered though she didn't need to, as she righted the spaghetti strap that had slipped down her shoulder. "Monica, meet Charlie!"

"Hey-yo, mate," the musician slurred with a thick, indistinguishable accent, obviously inebriated as well. Kate frowned. "Were you…uh, there, with more of the, uh…rum?"

Claire giggled, and smacked a kiss on his cheek. Charlie turned at the contact, and his eyes went hooded, and he went in to kiss Claire on the lips.

"_Okay!_" Kate dove in, and dragged the blonde away from the red-haired, probably pierced everywhere bass guitarist. "I think it's past Claire's bedtime."

"Claire?" said the man called Charlie, as if he hadn't known her name before that moment.

"Good night Charlie-Charlie," Claire cooed, un-protesting as Kate half-dragged her away.

The girl giggled all the way to the waiting car, and it was something of an embarrassment for Kate to convince Claire to get inside. She did, eventually, and Kate buckled the younger girl in before she could think to rally a defense.

"Okay, _drive_," Kate impelled the chauffeur, and he seemed to get the point. They were hoisting the then-sleeping Claire through the back door of Ryde Castle in less than ten minutes.

Despite being (barely) ontime, Kate convinced Tom-the-driver to take the back stairs to Claire's room, as Kate was sure that wherever Jack was, he wouldn't be happy to see them.

* * *

**end notes:** Oi, these are getting longer. And it's getting harder to pace myself (all this wanting to appease those of you reading this silly thing)! Anyway, same-old: drop a review if you have the time, because I really do appreciate it mucho :D


	4. not the name that you called me with

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part four: not the name that you called me with)  
****by:** AliLamba  
**rated:** Still T/PG13  
**thanks again: **To MoonlightGardenias, possibly the most adorable soap opera watcher I know. She is pretty freakin' love.  
**notes: **This is an exciting chapter, I hope! Not perhaps the happiest, but filled with drama (the fic takes a real curve here, so I'm sort of holding my breath as I post it), though I have to say, I was sort of excited to write it. You know, every time I accidentally write Kate when it should be Monica, _**I**_ jump, which I find pretty amusing.

* * *

"_Psst_, Monica, wake up."

Claire was nudging Kate painfully in the ribs, and as the brunette finally stirred, realizing she was uncomfortably warm in her jeans and t-shirt under the mounds of blankets in a strange bed, she wasn't any happier.

"Ugghhh, that's not my _naaame_…" Kate groaned, and rolled over.

Claire giggled. "Yeah, yeah…I'm sorry, okay? I can barely _remember_ last night, but I know that Jack wasn't a part of it, so thanks."

Kate blinked, blearily, and tried to get her bearings. It was sunny, that much was obvious, and she wasn't in her sleeping bag… Kate sat bolt-upright, realization dawning a moment too slow.

"Where's Jack?" The panic was evident in her voice.

The blonde girl giggled again, "Yeah, I know, he's scary, right? But don't worry," she calmed, and Kate almost felt the sentiment, "He went in early to get the boat ready, so it's just us for breakfast."

Kate didn't feel remotely hungry, but she ate anyway, clearing the tray that was brought up to Claire's room as they watched the morning news on TV.

At half-past eight, the door opened, and Nikki swept in like she owned the place. She stopped dead when she saw Kate in a bathrobe, a mimosa to her lips, and a cold, furious expression took hold. Completely unprepared for such an adverse reaction, Kate could only find herself able to stare dumbly like a deer in headlights, but when Claire looked up to see her step-mother, her expression had already been wiped clean.

"_Monica_, I didn't expect to find you here!" Nikki sang sweetly, as she brushed past the television and turned it off. "What a _pleasant_ surprise."

"Yeah, Monica brought me home last night," Claire sent a small smile in Kate's direction, but Kate couldn't find it within herself to return it. "When do we need to leave for the race?"

Nikki's expression was like ice to Kate's insides. She didn't look at her step-daughter as she answered bluntly, "Ten-thirty, darling, like we should have yesterday."

If she was trying to irk the blonde in the room, Claire was obviously immune to it that morning, as she merely shoved the last of a croissant into her mouth, and, clapping her hands together to rid them of any crumbs, she rose and headed to the bathroom.

Kate didn't know what to do, so she kept silent and still, waiting for Nikki to make a move. It felt like…like Nikki owned her, and Kate thought momentarily like that's what she must make most people feel like, if Claire's usual reaction was to be taken into account. Kate tried to smile, but it only made Nikki's grin stretch more cat-like in response.

"If you'll excuse me, please? I have to make a call." With the ominous statement, Nikki strode back into the hallway, disappearing before Kate had time to question its implication.

Claire's head popped around the bathroom door as soon as Kate secured the bedroom one shut.

"Hey, you can borrow something again for today, if you don't have time to go home."

Kate swallowed a lump in her throat, but tried to brush the younger girl off. "Do you know if my dress is around?"

Claire looked confused for a second, but then, she rolled her own eyes and knocked herself on the forehead. "Oh yeah, _duh!_ It's in the armoire."

Kate nodded at this, and so Claire ducked back into the bathroom. Hearing the shower turned on, Kate allowed herself to collapse in an armchair, drawing her hands to her face. This was all getting a bit much, and as much as she was enjoying herself, Kate couldn't help but feel like her days were numbered.

"_He's no idiot, you know. Even if he's charmed now, there's no way he'll be ignorant to your play forever._"

* * *

The _Elizabeth_ won that day.

Claire and Kate cheered from _The Pearl_, uninhibited in their being two of the three people on the deck. Across the hull, lounging in a small purple bikini, Nikki was trying her best to ignore them. Christian was also on-board, but had disappeared somewhere inside with a handful of business associates, having assured both Kate and Claire that he would be watching from a live feed, but insisting to his daughter that he had work to do.

Toasting to each other with glasses of sparkling water, they retired inside as well, Claire leading her to a room where they could play video games. Kate wasn't much for them, but she was a fast learner, despite her initial surprise that Claire was so competitive on an X-box.

By the time Jack, Desmond and half the _Elizabeth_'s crew walked into the room, Kate was completely engrossed, hooting herself as she beat Claire for the first time in a simulated car race. As embarrassed as she was to find six grown men laughing at her expense, they indulged her for it, and they all took turns trying to beat the now-adept Kate, who tried to be humble even as she started to win more than lose. She questioned whether Desmond would appreciate this childish, competitive streak, but he seemed to be thoroughly amused, going so far as to praise her amicably when she not-so-neatly wiped the floor with him.

As the hours wore on, and after lunch was served, the non-Humes took their turns leaving, and before long it was only Kate, Claire, Jack and Desmond left to their own devices. Christian strode in at half-past four, his enthusiasm at having won not dwarfed by the fact that there was a relative stranger in the room.

"Oh, Claire likes you so much, we may adopt you anyway," he had teased genially, when she suggested she should leave.

The older man insisted on sharing a brandy with his son and first cousin once-removed, so Kate and Claire discretely shut the game console off and joined the patriarch in toasting to victory. Nikki wandered in not long after that, but rather than join in drinking, she sat at the mini-bar, tapping her bare foot against the stool. She kept looking at the clock between the mirrors on the back wall, and Kate tried her best to ignore her.

But then there came a knock on the door.

Christian waved a "Come in," with barely a second thought, and the ship's steward stepped inside.

"There's a James Ford to see you sir."

All thought slipped from Kate's conscious mind, as behind her, she barely registered people getting to their feet. Christian and Desmond were up first, the elder man roaring a "_What?_" as angrily as the circumstances would allow, Desmond's fists tightening at his sides.

"What the bloody hell is he doing here?"

"I invited him!"

It was Nikki, and she was standing, trying to look collected, as she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"Whatever the bloody hell _for!_"

Kate found herself drawn to Jack, wanting to know if he was somehow a part of this. There was shock clearly written across his face, and it was evident even to Kate that he had kept up his side of the bargain. It somehow made it worse.

James, "Sawyer" Ford seemed just as confused to be there, but he stepped inside anyway, and looking around the room, stopped dead when he recognized Kate.

"Wait a minute…" Nikki cut him off, before Sawyer could get another word in.

"I invited Mr. Ford because we owe him an apology."

"_No_," Desmond snarled, glaring at the intruder, "We _don't_, brother."

Sawyer didn't say anything, but he didn't have to.

"Yes, we do! It was _Monica_ who gate crashed our party two days ago, and she lied to us to get him kicked out!" A stroke of near-hysteria was edging into Nikki's voice, but she was on a role. "Her name isn't even Monica—it's Kate! Katherine Austen—I saw it in her passport!"

There was more than one gasp at this revelation, but Kate was now past feeling the questioning gazes fall upon her.

"You went through my stuff?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"_Yes!_" Nikki asserted, but then realizing how it must sound, she back-pedaled, "When I was looking for your address to send you your dress—I didn't know that you'd be gate crashing our _lives_ as well!"

That seemed to cement it. Kate couldn't think of what to say, but it was Claire's meek voice that broke her heart.

"Monica…"

Kate turned and looked at her, the pure, unabated shock registering on Claire's pale white face under the betrayal of the first friend she thought she had found in her new life. Kate tried to smile for her, but the act was sad.

"Before you ask, it's all true," she murmured, and stood shakily to her feet. "Don't worry, I'll leave."

"Wait just a darn minute there," it was Sawyer, and he seemed to finally find his voice, "What happened two days ago don't matter at all. Moni—Kate doesn't deserve how you're doing this, Nikki."

But Christian Shephard obviously disagreed.

"Miss Austen, it is with a certain amount of regret that I must ask you to leave this moment. Mister Ford, I wish to extend our family's deepest apology. We had no right to treat you as harshly as we did, and—"

"Now hold on there!" Sawyer interrupted, and he turned wildly to Kate.

But Kate had finally rediscovered her pride. What Sawyer had said registered—she _didn't_ deserve to be ousted like _this_, no matter if she had gate crashed one, stupid party or not. It wasn't she who invited herself to those other functions, into their confidence, but them!

"No, it's true, it's all true. I _did_ gatecrash your party, and I did lie about Sawyer. And for that, I'm sorry," she cast a genuinely sad smile towards the blonde man, but didn't let him stop her, "But I'm not sorry for anything else. I meant to meet you, Desmond, and I did." She tried catch his eye, but Desmond turned away to look out a window, his expression ominously blank. Christian snorted, obviously repulsed, and stepped forward to console his wife. But this action only infuriated her, and suddenly Kate found her voice harsh. "You Humes think you're so untouchable, in your ivory towers, that one person with honest intentions doesn't even stand a chance."

Christian sneered, "_Honest intentions?_" he quoted, snapping his fingers to draw the steward back into the room.

"Yes, _honest intentions_. It seems that if I had _really_ wanted to stay, I should've been down on my knees in front of all of you from the start!"

Kate wanted to go on, debate the objections coming from Christian and now a stirring Jack, but Sawyer had found his voice again. "This is ridiculous! I didn't ask for your apology, and I don't want it. Kate, wait for me outside, I'll drive you back into town. But first I want a word with these people!"

Christian straightened to his full height, and, his gaze menacing, spoke with the finality that had made him all the money it did. "Mister Ford, I do apologize profoundly, but I must make clear that our guilt is not limitless."

"_Don't worry_," Kate threatened, realizing what the elder Shephard meant to do, and that Sawyer was more than ready to fight him on it, "I would rather swim home than stay here one more second."

And with that, she fled from the room, past the confused steward, and into the carpeted hallway. Ignoring the way her heels impeded her movements, Kate tried to run down the stairs, through the dining halls, changing rooms, and across the deck. She had only made it half-way, when she heard Jack yell out her name.

"_Kate!_" Not wanting to stop and be subject to his victory, Kate didn't slow down. The ridiculous shoes made her flight awkward, and Jack's hand was encircling her upper arm before she was in shouting distance of the motorboat. "_Kate_," he breathed, heavily, though he was no where near as out of breath as she was. "Please, wait."

"Why should I do that?" she panted, with as much venom as she could muster. There was a furious wind whipping the strands of her hair, and they slapped her face. Kate didn't bother to move them aside.

"Because," he started, and he tried to smile in what he must have thought was charming. "You haven't lost completely. You may have blown it with Desmond, but there's still me."

Kate stilled, her spine straightening, as the full implications of what he was offering sunk in. Her gaze, murderous, tried to shrivel him.

"Is that a marriage proposal?"

"Of course not."

"I didn't think so."

Kate squirmed furiously out of his grasp, and Jack struggled to keep her held for a moment before letting her go.

"_Kate!_" he called her back.

She wanted to storm off the boat, to not even grace him with a second glance, but she whirrled around, furious that he was abusing the fact that he now knew her name. She didn't say anything, but glared at him expectedly.

"_Yes_?"

For a moment, Jack looked almost taken aback, but then, all the cool confidence that made him able to perform 15 hour surgeries appeared to come back to him, and he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "What do you say?"

Kate's blood went cold with fury. So it was no marriage proposal; he didn't think she was good enough for that. He was offering to take her as his mistress, to feed her, and clothe her, on a rented basis—when he was finished using her the contract would be null and void, and she would be no better than a used, empty doll.

"I would rather _die_."

She spat, and it sprayed his cheek. But Jack stood his ground, even as he glowered at her response.

"Think about it," he murmured, raising one arm to wipe his face with the back of his hand.

Kate could feel the emotions rising up her throat now, as she felt the sudden and shocking urge to throw herself at him, to pummel him with her tiny fists until she could sob openly for all the wasted chances.

It was a hard impulse to swallow, but she took off again towards the speedboat, not even bothering to direct him as the driver started towards dry land in an instant.

Kate hid her face behind her hands, trying not to let the boat or ensuing taxi driver see her face as she cried. She ended up in the middle of town, and felt ridiculous at suddenly having no where to go. She had no job, and no story now for Edward Mars, and she couldn't sneak back to her attic for another five hours, at least. Kate dug in her purse for any amount of change she could find, and then spent it all on a stiff drink, downing it before she could taste how bitter it was.

_Of course_, she told herself glumly, _it would end this way. You had to know it would. _

She swallowed coldly. …_Jack knew_.

She loitered in the bar, and accepted when a few men tried to buy her drinks, feeling no remorse when she wouldn't let it go any farther than that.

The hours wore on, and eventually, she couldn't stand to _hear_ about boat races any more, even if she could block the bar's television from her mind. So Kate left, dragging what was left of her dignity, and stalled by walking around as aimlessly as she could. One of her heels broke, and her feet practically killed her, but Kate kept walking, until she was so tired that she couldn't stand upright.

Sleep came hard to her that night. Naomi and the other girls sensed something was wrong, but Kate wouldn't tell them, wouldn't burden them with her own mess of problems. She didn't have to feel bad about it for long, as at sunrise, before any of them had really roused from sleep, the door to their tiny attic burst open, the landlord and lady framed clearly even in darkness.

The old, fat man's accent was heavy, and in her drowsed state, Kate questioned whether she would have understood him, though what he was trying to say was clear. The other girls, Naomi the loudest, tried to protest, but Kate just waved them off, gathering her few belongings and leaving down the stairs, her head bowed even as she felt the landlord's watchful gaze make sure she left completely.

Kate changed out of her excuse for pajamas in a public restroom, and then, as soon as there was light enough, went to the dress shop and tried to get her money back. Though it had been so meticulously taken care of, the shopkeeper found a stain on the inside hem, and Kate only received half of what she was initially assured. She took it, and bought herself a meager breakfast, packaging and postage to send back the outfits the Humes had supplied her with, and then set about trying to find work. She walked up and down the roads of Cowes, putting in an application wherever anyone would let her, but the responses were all the same: Come back in a month, they would tell her, when the tourists have left. We have all we need now. Her hope soared when one smaller hotel told her there was an opening, but did she know Spanish? When Kate admitted that she didn't, tried to overwhelm them with an intimate knowledge of French, they still turned her away.

Naomi found her at lunch, and managed to press a meal upon her, telling Kate that she had found a place for Kate to sleep at the local hostel, if she could pay by the night.

The room turned out to be no more than a closet converted with a thatched mattress, but Kate took it. She shared a bathroom with a dozen other people, and the sheets were so filthy that Kate washed them three times before she even considered laying on them, but Kate slept indoors that night. In the morning, she called Mars, an idea that she could write a story about the Ryde Castle, or _The Pearl_, but he didn't want to hear anything about that, and Kate couldn't offer him anything salacious enough to be paid for. She spent the rest of the day in the neighboring towns, again walking, looking for work. Everywhere it was the same: Maybe if you were born here, or maybe if you could sail well, then we would have something for you. But the gift shops, and book stores, and butchers were all full up, had everyone they would need for the busy holiday season now that teenagers and college students had come here to vacation for the summer.

That night, Kate laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time. Her stomach rumbled angrily at her, but she ignored it, trying to examine her options. Maybe…she could go to Sawyer for help. He certainly seemed to like her enough—maybe he could help her back to America? Or even at least to London, where the jobs were likely to be more plentiful. She realized, sadly, that she couldn't ask him to do that now, not after everything she'd put him through. There was a thought of appealing to Claire, who maybe wasn't so angry with her any more, but those betrayed eyes seemed to swim to her conscience before she could think of what she would say.

Which meant…one other person. Kate threw off the idea, trying to force herself into laughing coldly, but she couldn't get it out her throat. Jack Shephard was simply not an option. She would find something tomorrow, she told herself as she shut her eyes to deliberately invite sleep, or die trying.

On the third day, Kate took the bus an hour outside of town, and again spent fifteen hours on her feet. She had found one place, a castle down the coast which was looking for tour guides, but the orientation was a four week process, and there was a fee for the classes. Prospects had slowed down out there after that, and on the sluggish, jaunty ride back to the city of Cowes, Kate had to finally realize that her options had run thin. Kate approached the hostel, counting what money she had left under the streetlamps, and realized that she had exactly enough for one more night…or one phone call.

She passed a small café as she walked, could overhear a television set announce that the Humes now had a three-point lead over the Widmores, and were expected to win. She couldn't help but sneer sardonically at that, and it was with a weight low in her aching, empty stomach that Kate sat on the curb next to the telephone booth.

_Maybe_…_maybe it wouldn't be that bad…_

Kate stood abruptly, clasping her small backpack to her chest before she could throw herself in another direction. She strode into the glass cage, and, dialing the right number, she waited anxiously as it seemed to ring a long time. The hired valet answered.

"Hume residence."

"Yes, hi, I need to speak to Jack Shephard."

"I'm afraid he can't come to the phone right now. He is entertaining his guests."

_Right_, Kate acknowledged, her hands trembling. _Of course they would want to celebrate tonight_. She ignored the thought.

"Mr. Shephard is—is expecting this call," she lied, "and he would be very, _very_ disappointed not to get it."

The valet grew silent, but with a murmured, "Very well," he went to seek him out. It took longer than Kate was expecting, and she had to feed more money into the machine, but eventually, his cool, exact voice came on the line.

"This is Jack Shephard."

"It's me," Kate ground out, her voice thick in her throat. "I…I've thought about it."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment Kate thought he had hung up.

"…And?"

"And," Kate had to pause, her heart was beating so wildly in her throat. _Don't, Katie. Don't do it._ "And I would have some demands."

She expected him to object to this, and had prepared herself to defend her right, but there was merely another short pause on the line.

"Where are you?"

Kate felt her heart sink loudly down into her chest, but she ignored it as well. "I'll be at Anthony's," she supplied vaguely, citing a popular café.

"When?"

"Right now."

Jack snorted into the phone, and she could just imagine him looking into the next room at some pretty blonde who had his company. "Now is hardly convenient, Kate."

She had forgotten that he knew her name, her real name, and that frightened her as much as it angered her.

"Well, make it convenient."

She slammed down the phone. It took her a moment to regain her breath, and then Kate wandered back to the small restaurant she had chosen, and took a seat near the back, blowing the last of her money on a buttered sandwich. She estimated that it took about fifteen minutes to reach the café from the Castle, and Kate was about to give up an hour later, when Jack came striding through the front door.

He was dressed in a tuxedo, and Kate realized with a sinking sensation that he must have lingered to say good bye to his guests. It was hardly a very proper excuse to leave.

Jack found her easily, and, having crossed to her table, took the seat opposite her, tugging at his bow tie until it unraveled.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked, so casually Kate felt the impulse to scream, to storm out and leave him there. But she merely shook her head, not thinking she could swallow anything any more, and didn't speak while he ordered a Jack Daniels over ice.

"You have some demands?"

Kate looked at him scornfully now, contempt written into her expression. He seemed not to notice, merely waiting for her to speak, knowing that she would.

"I—I want a whole new wardrobe," she started, "And nice clothes, too. Nothing cheap."

Jack's lips curled, but he didn't refute her. "Naturally."

"And…" Kate didn't know what to demand now, having not expected him to agree to her first so easily. "And I want five thousand dollars when you…when you grow tired of me."

Jack nodded, silently. "That can be arranged."

"And I want to go to the Firework Ball tomorrow night."

Kate wasn't sure where that thought had come from, and it appeared that Jack hadn't expected it either.

"Are you serious? Why?"

Now having to search for a reason, Kate couldn't think of anything. So instead she tried to stare at him defiantly. "Are you saying no?"

He considered her, slowly, as his glass was laid before him, and Jack took a slow sip. "No, I'm not. I can take you."

"I want a proper invitation."

Jack snorted, and downed the rest of his drink with barely a wince. "You don't need one. I can take who I like."

This, Kate realized was true, and she suddenly felt silly for suggesting it.

"Is that all?"

Kate realized that she couldn't think of anything else, and suddenly wished she had given this more thought. She nodded slowly.

"And in return…?"

Kate shrugged, and had to look out the window, at the emptying street beyond the glass, before she turned her gaze towards Jack. She couldn't ask him to understand, and she realized slowly that she didn't want to try. "I'll be…whatever you want me to be."

Jack nodded, and Kate felt her freedom dissipate with the small gesture. He glanced at her small backpack. "Do you need to go back home? Get your things?"

Kate shook her head, and touched the stained red material. She thought of the clothes she would leave behind, but who would need them? Jack had promised her all new ones. "No, everything I value is in here."

His eyebrows raised at this, clearly surprised, and now it was Jack's turn to look outside.

"I really am your last option, aren't I."

Kate didn't need to answer him, and he didn't need to hear it. When he stood, and dropped a few bills on the table, Kate went with him. He guided her by the elbow once they left the café, and steered her towards a car he had waiting—a small, sporty black thing that only had two doors. Jack drove.

"Where are we going?" Kate suddenly asked, as the thought crossed her mind that he could be taking her back to the castle.

"I've arranged for you to stay at an apartment we own downtown," he explained, simply, and Kate suddenly realized that it must have been what had taken him so long. And then the thought turned sour. He must have been so sure—so sure that she would give into him.

They drove to the more expensive residential part of town, right next to the nicer beaches. The apartment had a parking place, and a small elevator, but that was perhaps what was most humble thing about it. The four rooms—a bedroom, bathroom, office, and living room with a small kitchenette attached—were rich with decorations lavishly chosen, the wallpaper and textures understated and refined. Kate had to swallow a gasp when she saw the bedroom, ornamented with a big double bed, and large mirrors on more than one wall.

"Is this where you take all your women here?" she spat, suddenly indignant.

But Jack countered her easily. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Kate had to swallow painfully. No, she could voice no objection.

Jack watched her casually inspect some of the drawers, and then began to redo his tie. When he finished using the mirror, he removed a wallet from his coat pocket and dropped some cash on the dresser. "I have to go back to the party," he explained, though he didn't have to. "Use this to get yourself something to eat, and I'll open up accounts for you in some shops around town tomorrow. Do you know where you want to go?"

Kate was at least ready for this question, and listed a few boutiques she knew would be expensive. If they were, he didn't let on, merely noting them on the pad of paper by the phone, and taking it with him.

"Is that all?"

Kate nodded, and then, licking her dry lips, she ventured a question. "And…tonight?"

Jack looked up, his gaze penetrating. As he walked towards her, his eyes darkened, until the time he reached her face, and ran his hand down her cheek, there was no question as to why he had bought her. "No," he breathed, and looked away, "No, I'll leave you alone tonight."

She could tell he didn't want to, and Kate felt sordid.

Realizing he wouldn't be coaxing anything out of her, Jack withdrew and headed towards the door. He slowed by the time he reached it, however, and after bumping it gently with the heel of his palm, he turned back to face her.

"Your passport," he asked, reaching out his hand.

Kate blinked, not understanding at first. But he explained.

"I have trust issues, too."

With growing realization, she understood that he didn't trust her not to leave with his money and anything not bolted down to the room. Wanting to laugh coldly, she fished it from her pack, and gave it to him. He traded it for an apartment key, hiding the thin blue booklet alongside his wallet. He left with a long, lingering look.

When he was gone, Kate collapsed onto the edge of the bed, visibly shaking. A glance to the clock by the bed showed that not half an hour had passed since Jack had strode into the bar and ordered that whiskey over ice. The observation chilled her, that her fate had changed so drastically in little more than people took to eat a meal. But that analogy made her suddenly hungry, and she quickly called a cab and had dinner in the most expensive restaurant in town.

On the way home, she counted what Jack had left her. There was enough in there to buy her a train ticket to London, she realized, and was about to redirect the driver, before she remembered that they wouldn't let her through the gates without a form of identification. Bitterness infected her blood stream, and she had to fight not to cry in the cab. For whatever would happen, her life was now in the hands of one Jack Shephard, and she could only pray he wouldn't choke her with them.

Feeling more generous now she didn't have much to do with the leftover money, Kate tipped the cab driver liberally, and dragged her feet all the way to the apartment. Once there, she shed her clothes and spent almost an hour in the shower, scrubbing her skin until parts turned red.

When she fell into bed, not bothering with any clothes at all, Kate wouldn't allow herself to think, instead allowing the exhaustion to wipe her mind.

* * *

**end notes:** So now you know! This is where the fic was always heading, and the rest of the fic relates the two characters (Jack and Kate) in this dynamic, with obvious smut-er-dome. I do hope I won't lose you as readers... Ah well. Of course, leave a review if you have the time. The ones you left on the last chapter really warmed me more than FFnet will allow me to say. Rice! I get you on the summary deal. Oi. If anyone can think of a good summary for this fic, I will friggen write them drabble!smut.


	5. you spent everything you had

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part five: you spent everything you had)  
****by:** AliLamba  
**rated: **This is the "uncut" version, or the original, or…whatever the heck you want to call it. So R/M.  
**notes: **Somehow my enthusiasm for writing this fic slowed after the middle of the last chapter. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe just the whirlwind of actually writing so much caught up with me, or maybe it's just that from here on out the fic feels pretty ho-hum to me, and I know so exactly where it's going that I just sort of have a script to follow. In any case, I'll try not to actually slow down in case someone actually wants to read it, especially since I can't seem to write a chapter less than 5,000 words. Oh! And **this chapter is upping the rating**, so be advised. Be very advised…XD

**I made a "vanilla" version for those averse to this sort of thing, and put it over on my LJ.** Why I'm putting the smut here and the clean one there, I have no idea, but there you go: alilamba-writes (dot) livejournal (dot) com (forward slash) 2912 (dot) html

* * *

Kate didn't want to wake up the next morning. The phone by the bed had other plans.

Groaning deeply, uninhibitedly, Kate stuck the piece of plastic against her ear and tried to fall back asleep. "_Hello_," she mumbled, her voice thick with grogginess and excess blankets.

A warm, earthy chuckle reached her ears. It was Jack. "Well good morning Kate. I trust you slept well?"

She was too sleepy to sass. Instead, she rolled over, massaging her eyelids with errant fingers. "Like that bump…on that…log, or something."

There was another chuckle. "I just wanted to let you know that I've set up the accounts. You can go any time you want." Kate woke up at that, and squinted down at the sheets that covered her. _How did I end up underneath…?_

"Mmk," she murmured again, sitting up. "And tonight?"

"What about it?"

"Are—are you still taking me?"

There was a pause on the line. "Yes, I'm still taking you. But if what you really want to know is whether I've told my family you're coming, then the answer's no."

Kate picked absently at the duvet cover. "I see."

"No, you don't, and neither do I." There was another pause, as Jack sighed. "I'll pick you up at eight."

Kate kept the phone to her ear for a moment after Jack had hung up. Okay, so she really _didn't_ know why she wanted to go tonight, but that didn't make the impulse any less potent. Kate wandered slowly into the shower and took a long one, taking the time to really enjoy the hot water. She called one of the local spas and made an appointment using Jack's name (they had been trying to tell her they were all full up) and then she called Naomi, insisting on treating all the girls to lunch at one of the more expensive restaurants in town.

The girls tactfully didn't ask any questions, and Kate was glad she didn't have to tell them about her arrangement. But she was adamant on taking them to one of the nearby boutiques afterwards, and bought big, fancy hats and matching gloves for each of them.

Naomi lingered behind, after each of the others had made tearful farewells.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Kate?"

Brushing off some invisible dirt from her sleeve, Kate really couldn't think of anything to answer that. Naomi seemed to accept that she couldn't.

"Is he the same guy who came to look for you at the boarding house? After you left?"

Kate looked up. "Someone came looking for me? What did he look like?"

Naomi shook her head. "I'm not sure, I wasn't there. But I was told he was handsome, and tall. American. Does that sound like your guy?"

Kate had to nod slowly. Yes, that sounded like it very well could have been Jack.

"Are you in love with him?"

That took her aback—the expression of disgust jumped on her face before Kate could stop it, and Naomi laughed.

"Okay, okay…but at least he's good looking then, yeah? So maybe you will be soon."

Kate couldn't think of anything to say, so she only rolled her eyes dramatically to make Naomi laugh again. The college student got the picture, and wisely changed the subject. They tried to chat as idly as they could for another few minutes, but then Kate had to keep her appointment, so they had to say good bye. It was emotional to say the least, and Kate couldn't help thinking that their paths might never cross again.

On the cab ride to the salon, Kate decided to be more cheerful. What was there really to lose, now that nothing in her life was of her decision? She let herself be airy when she disembarked, tipping the driver generously, and then made the most of her afternoon. She got a massage, a facial, a manicure, pedicure, her hair done—the works. She bought every product that was suggested to her. It was expensive as hell, but who cared? She was a kept woman now, so let Jack keep her.

Kate spent the rest of the afternoon hopping from boutique to boutique, buying nightgowns and daywear in fabrics she didn't know the names of. She especially enjoyed buying her dress for that evening. It was a pale, almost peach pink, long and flowing and strapless, decorated with small strips of lace and dyed a different shade towards the hem. Heels made her taller, and she even splurged on expensive negligee to wear underneath. It made her feel sexy, and confident, until she realized that it could be seen and who would see it, so she switched to plainer undergarments as she dressed that evening.

Jack was almost exactly on time, giving Kate the impression that he was rarely late.

He gave her a very long look when she opened the door. "Wow, Kate," he started, "You look…"

Kate couldn't help but smile a little triumphantly. "Are you going to finish that?" she taunted, raising an eyebrow when he seemed to trail off indefinitely.

Jack shook his head, chuckling. "No, you know, I don't think I am."

Her smile stretched a little wider, and she stepped back inside to grab her small clutch. When she came back to the door, Jack was more prepared, and he held out his hand to her.

"Come on, Cinderella, let's get you to this ball."

* * *

There was a long line of cars already waiting when they pulled up to the dock where people would be taking off for the Firework Ball. Jack ducked around it, sliding into a reserved parking spot, and held her elbow as they made their way towards an empty speedboat. His hand lingered on the small of her back as they sped through the water under the cover of darkness, joined by only two other family members on the private shuttle. The gestures seemed to be more formality than anything, as he dropped his hand when they touched the carpet leading up to _The Pearl_ and stepped away to attend to the guests he knew.

Kate didn't mind. She felt…_expensive_, and that made her feel untouchable. The thought helped erect mental shields, especially when the Humes finally came into focus near the canopied entrance. Nikki froze when she saw her, her jaw visibly dropping, before she pulled herself together enough to tug on her husband's sleeve and point to where Kate was standing her ground. Not content to let Christian only glower at the unexpected guest while attending to his own, Nikki stormed over.

"Very funny, _Katherine_, but you're leaving right now." The other woman grabbed her upper arm, and tried to drag Kate discretely back towards the improvised dock.

"Nikki, she's with me."

Both women stopped when they heard Jack's assertion, and Nikki glared in surprise.

"_What?_" she practically seethed, rounding on Jack. "This is some kind of _joke_, right?"

"It is not a joke, Nikki, so get your damn hand off her."

Christian had disentangled himself from whoever he had been speaking to, and showed up at Nikki's elbow. His wife hurled him an incredulous glare when she noticed him, throwing Kate's arm away. "_Jack_ says that she's his _date_."

Christian Shephard's eyebrow twitched. "Is this true, Jack?"

All eyes turned to the man's son, but he shrugged them off. "Yeah, she's with me."

"_What?_" Nikki asked again, this time turning to her husband. "You _cannot_ let her stay here." Jack interrupted before his father could object.

"Who I choose to spend my time with is my business, Nikki, not yours."

Suffering another small squeak of indignation, Nikki tried to appeal to her husband. The elder was merely peering at his son appraisingly, decidedly silent. Jack nodded towards something behind his father's back.

"There are people waiting to shake your hand."

Apparently, that settled the matter. Christian gave Kate a last, withering glance, and then took his wife's hand to lead her back to the party. Nikki's glare was far more spiteful.

Feeling like she had won some sort of small victory, Kate wound her arm around Jack's and nudged him towards the main deck. "_C'mon_," she impelled, when he was slow to respond.

The smile died on her lips as they passed by Claire and Desmond. Claire's reaction was one of pure shock, and then anger, but Desmond…Desmond just pretended not to see her, though his eyes had gone blank and cold when she tried to meet them.

Jack was stiff, and his voice proved to match as soon as they were out of earshot. "Are you happy now?" he sneered.

Kate couldn't find it in herself to be sorry. "No," she confessed, "I don't want you to fight with your family." She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she fell silent. "Get me a glass of Champagne?"

With a curt glance from the corner of his eye, Jack obliged, disappearing. Kate's breath tumbled from her lungs the moment she saw the back of him, making her realize how tense her shoulders were. Rolling them discretely, Kate decided to wander the party to calm her nerves. _The Pearl_ had been beautifully decorated for the event, like it was a different yacht all together. Small lights had been strung elegantly across the railings, storm lamps punctuating tables littered with foliage and summer roses.

A sudden bitterness bled throughout her torso, and Kate found herself shivering though the night was warm. Though she tried, Kate still couldn't understand why she had asked Jack to bring her to the party, especially since she certainly wasn't sure she wanted to be there anymore. But that realization turned the bitterness to shame, and then a cold, hard hatred. A wave of impulses surged through her senses, as she suddenly wanted to hurt and embarrass them as they had hurt and embarrassed her. This emotion was much harder to withhold.

She wanted to eat some of the hors d'oeurves they had set out for the guests, but she couldn't make herself hungry, so instead she accepted the flute of Champagne Jack returned with, and raised it to him in toast.

"What should we drink to?"

Jack was still angry, that much was clear, but he tipped his own glass towards her. "Suppose you tell me, Kate."

She felt the threads of guilt starting to weave inside her chest, but she pulled the string that would unravel them. "Let's drink to…drink." When she clinked her glass against his, she ignored his questioning brow. "To whatever the hell made your family so rich you could afford the real stuff." Draining half the glass with one swig, Kate dropped it to a nearby table. "C'mon," she then surprised him, sliding into his pants pocket to claim his other hand, and nudging him towards the deck. "I want to dance until my feet fall off."

From that moment on, Kate was practically effervescent, all smiles and laughter, so that anyone who noticed her would think her terribly happy to be there. She swallowed more Champagne, compelled Jack around the dance floor more than once (he never once stepped on her toes—obviously a man of studious lessons), and engaged in conversation with people she didn't know. Her wit and charm were honed, sharp tools, and she wielded them with a grace that amused even Jack.

That is, until she wandered from the ladies room, and nearly ran head-on into Sawyer Ford.

"_Whoa now_!" he whistled, clearly impressed. "Now that is something worth paying for."

Kate froze for a moment, wondering if he knew how appropriate his words were, but it appeared to be only a turn of phrase. He took her hand and kissed it, eyes sparkling.

"What are you doin' here?" she demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Kate tilted her chin in the air, and Sawyer laughed. "Okay, okay, I get the picture. I was, though, given an official invitation." He looked her up and down. "Are you here with someone?"

Kate didn't answer. "I thought the Humes were done with you."

The man from Alabama chuckled, but it was hollow. "Yeah, I told Nikki what I thought of her. Almost got thrown overboard, but it looks at least like I didn't say anything that...fictitious." He looked away from her, out of the small portholes that dotted the narrow hallway. "That girl needs some teaching."

Kate couldn't help but snort a little. "What, by a man?"

Sawyer looked towards her for a quiet moment, and then shrugged. "Seems like her problem is that she has too many men, if you ask me."

Kate didn't, and started to think of a polite excuse to walk away.

"Care to dance?" His casual question came as something of a surprise, and Kate looked up at him skeptically. "Well, if you're here, lookin' like that, might as well put you to good use."

The thought of Jack's reaction flitted across her conscience, but Kate stomped it down, an impulse she was perfecting that evening. "Okay," she responded, actually smiling as she took his hand.

The dance was a slow one, and Kate let herself lean her arm along the length of his, let his hand rest lower then perhaps she would have under less Champagne. But for some reason, seeing him allowed her to drop the act she had been maintaining all night, and as he turned her about the floor, Kate let herself think of anything but the bigger picture. They danced close, close enough so that Sawyer could talk to her in almost a whisper.

"So you wanna tell me what you're really doing here? And looking like a million bucks, no less."

For a very small moment, Kate felt the impulse to tell him everything, to unload all that she was thinking, and implore him to help her. The restrained thought brought a bitter taste to the tip of her tongue, especially when she realized yet again that whether he would bring her back to America or not, Jack still had her passport. And why even bother to ask? All she had caused Sawyer was embarrassment and trouble, of the magnitude that it was worth questioning why he was even talking to her. "I'm a stow-away, of course," she joked, finally, and though Sawyer chuckled, he understood, and didn't ask any more questions.

Across the deck, Kate watched as Jack approached the watching crowd, clearly looking for her over the heads of other tuxedo and evening gown clad guests. She couldn't discern his exact expression, because he hadn't yet recognized her when Claire came storming to his side, obviously livid.

Their subject of conversation was abundantly clear.

Jack's frown became evident as he listened to his sister's tirade and found Kate and Sawyer amongst the crowd. Suddenly, he grabbed Claire and pulled her onto the dance floor himself, and started to move them very noticeably in Kate and Sawyer's direction.

Anticipating his displeasure, thinking of no where to run on a _boat_, Kate immediately became very animated once more, and Sawyer was laughing raucously by the time Jack and Claire had reached them.

Jack put a hand out to Sawyer's arm to stop them. "Let's switch partners, shall we?"

Not bothering to wait for his approval, or to suffer Claire's indignant objections, Jack pulled Kate from the other American and swept her in an opposite direction.

For a moment, he didn't speak, but Jack didn't have to. He was stiff, the pressure he had on her back almost painful. On a particularly abrupt turn, he really did push too hard, eliciting a painful wince from Kate. It seemed to be what he was after.

"Trying to get a better offer?" he asked, his voice cold and trying to be cruel.

Kate gasped, but riled quickly at his assumption, and her hands unconsciously bunched the material of his jacket between her fists. She tried to pull away, not caring where they were on the dance floor, but Jack dragged her back in.

"You're just like your father," she accused savagely, and for a moment it seemed like she had really stung him. But then with a yank on their clasped hands, he crashed her body against his and held her there, forcing her to feel the breadth of it.

"You know, Kate, you might be on to something." His voice was hot against her ear, and Kate couldn't help but to swallow painfully. "Like my father, I guard my possessions very carefully."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means, _Kate_, that you and I made a deal, and I plan to see it through." His hand was hard against the small of her back, pushing her into him impossibly closer. "So don't think about trying to get out of it. Wherever you'd go, I'd find you. You're with me, Kate," his voice was now only a callous whisper, though she heard every syllable, "Until, as you agreed yourself, I grow tired of you."

Kate was silent against him, as the song played on. For the first time, she was beginning to realize what she'd done, and a sense of fatalism swept over her before she could think to rally against it.

_What have you done, Katie_…

"You'd…you'd come after me?"

Jack's jaw tightened against her hair. "You know I could, Kate."

Her mind went blank at that, because it was probably true. She stared, unblinkingly through the dance floor, thinking that she could've fallen to the ground were it not for Jack's relentless pressure. _Coming here was a mistake_, she realized quickly. _I don't belong here, with these people_.

She realized then that she only wanted to come so that she could feel like she was on some sort of level playing field with these people—like there was no difference between herself and them besides circumstance. But Kate felt just the opposite. There was something terrible about being like the Humes, something that had to be adapted just to survive with so much privilege. The viciousness inside her bloomed, and rather than ignore it, Kate let herself feed on it, until her smile was just as malicious.

"How long does it usually take, Jack?" she asked, feeling him tighten at the sound of her voice. She elaborated. "_How long does it take_," each word was enunciated and drawn out, like she was speaking to a child, "for you to get tired of your women? Just a rough estimate will be fine."

There was a long pause, in which Kate relished in feeling like she had claimed some small victory against his ego. But before she could really celebrate, Jack pulled her backwards, until he was looking into her eyes, and his expression proved just as savage as her own.

"Well, that's hard to say, Kate. Seeing as how you've promised to be whatever I want you to be."

Kate's eyes widened, and she suddenly sensed that in this dynamic, there wasn't any power to be won. She felt unexpectedly adrift, as if she were alone on the dance floor, being directed to breathe.

The song ended, and though Jack stopped dancing, he didn't move to leave. His mouth was a tight, straight line, but the look in his eyes had changed. The darkness she had noticed before was now predatory…a deep-seeded lust barely restrained.

"Let's get out of here."

As Jack led Kate around the couples and towards a waiting speedboat, explosions started to echo from beyond the hull. People stopped what they were doing, and stared towards the sky, their _ahs_ escaping on warm breath with each new glittering firework.

* * *

They went back to the apartment and had sex. There was no way it could be called anything else.

Jack hadn't bothered to say good bye to anyone in his family, and he drove fast and silently back into town once they got back onto land. There weren't any other cars on the streets, as everyone had found a spot to settle, to watch the annual firework celebration.

When they got inside, Jack flipped a few lights on and took her immediately to the bedroom, letting her stand alone while he sat on the edge of the bed. And then he spoke.

"Now, show me what I've bought."

At first, she didn't know what he meant. But then...

_No_, she whispered to herself, her heart beating wildly in her chest, _I can't do this_. She wanted to scream this at him, call him a perverted asshole and not look back twice…but his eyes kept her rooted to the spot. There wasn't an ounce of compassion.

Not allowing herself to breathe, Kate closed her eyes, blocking out any sense of her surroundings.

She tried not to focus on how her limbs were trembling, but reached underneath her arm, and pulled down the zipper that held the dress against her torso. The fabric fell almost immediately, and Kate shivered, not bothering to step out of the dress, as she pulled off her earrings, took off her high-heeled shoes, and then bent to remove her stockings. Jack's pants tightened across his lap, making Kate realize that at some point she had opened her eyes, and looked at his face. Jack's gaze was a crude, pale hunger; sweat beaded against his skin, and his lips were dry.

"Go on," he muttered, his voice thick.

But Kate couldn't withhold her emotions any longer. Everything inside of her was raw, and chaotic—a rising sense of desperation at not knowing how she had come to be where she was.

"_No_," she didn't expect to say out loud, "No, I won't do it!"

His lips twisted into a cruel sort of smile. "Anything I want you to be, remember?"

The strength of Jack's gaze obliterated her instinct to fight. She felt the sob rising in her throat, but denied it passage, refused to let herself prove weak in front of him. With slow, defeated hands, Kate removed the last of her undergarments, letting the silk fall against her fingers before they hit the carpeted floor with barely a sound. She didn't care enough any more to cover herself decently.

Jack stood, and crossed to her, though Kate didn't look up from where her gaze was focused on the pale white threads of berber. His hand raised slowly, and with the briefest of touches, he felt the side of her neck. Kate wanted to be sick, but she couldn't force the emotion, especially as Jack's hands trailed against her bare shoulder, and down her arm. At first unsure, almost tentative, his exploration slowly built into something more confident, his strokes more intent as they left pure heat in their wake.

The battle to be distant, to dissolve Jack from her consciousness, was slowly receding. Jack's hands were too exact, and he touched her where she awakened to be feel them.

He stepped away from her, and she could hear his clothes being shed, but Kate wouldn't open her eyes. Her pulse was racing, her breath coming in shallow puffs, and she was trying to control it. Jack came back, and brushed their bare thighs together so that she could feel his skin. His head dipped, and she could feel his breath, and then his lips on her breast. Kate let out an involuntary gasp, a low wave of warmth echoing throughout her body, and Jack stilled. She was sure he could hear every pulse.

But then, Jack started to caress her wildly, almost frenzied, his hands almost trembling with uninhibited desire. Kate's head fell back as his fingers stretched down her stomach, and to the spread of skin below her navel, her breath shuddering as it left her chest. His fingers were burning her, developing her senses in a way she couldn't stop, and the pulse beat against her core insistently, refusing to be ignored.

Jack pulled her into his arms, and dropped her on the bed, not bothering to pull down the sheets as he swung himself over her.

Kate opened her eyes as she felt his presence above her, and seeing her look at him, Jack pushed his hand against her cheek. His eyes were dark, lipid pools of awareness, and they shook her more than she would dare admit. She tried to fuel anger into her gaze as she glared at him with a fire she hoped would stamp out the mounting desire.

"I hate you."

For a moment, Jack pulled back, eyebrows raised in shock. But then he was only grinning mercilessly, as all the darkness poured back into the brown of his stare. "Well, that's novel," he admitted, and then dropped his head so that his lips were mere breaths from hers, "But let's see if you can hate _this_."

She didn't, and was more ashamed than she'd been in her life to admit so. Her body had betrayed her, responding to his caresses, allowed him to mark her body with his own. Jack's history with women—however disregarded in the shadow of his cousin—hadn't been an idle one. He knew how to read her expressions, and how to act upon them even when she tried to hide them. Kate had come, hard, and the cold, rushing shame had followed.

Jack seemed equally sated by her coercive body, and afterwards, when he had collapsed beside her, Jack had dropped a protective arm over her waist and tucked her against his still-heaving chest. He kissed her neck, and across her cheek, and then reached to claim her lips.

But Kate struggled, wrenching herself from his grasp. Her mind was trying to recover her body, and she tried to give it strength, convincing herself that what they had just shared was an act, nothing more repulsive than smiling for a cameraman. She didn't really believe it, but she could hold on to it, for fear that her spirit would feel too abused.

Jack stared at her as she turned her head away—she could feel his eyes on her face, and his gaze had lost all of the warm exuberance of moments before. Suddenly, Kate was leaping from bed, and running to the bathroom, not stopping until she slammed the door behind herself and collapsed against it, sinking to the tiled floor. A strangled sob billowed up her throat, and she had to force it to be silent. Her mind was playing over and over the feel of his hands, the way he had coaxed her hips into accepting his rhythm, the way she had cried out at orgasm so uninhibitedly.

She felt so dirty.

Kate stepped into the shower and turned it on, shocking her senses with the burst of cold water. She tried to scrub the scent of him off her, before she realized there wouldn't be much of a point. For whatever it was worth, Kate's life was now bound to Jack's, and this...this...reproduction, of what it was, would be a regular practice.

When she stepped back into the bedroom, a towel tied beneath her arm, Kate noticed Jack was asleep. She slipped into a short black nightgown, the silk of which she'd appreciated earlier that day, though now the material felt rough against her sensitized skin and she almost took it off. Leaving the towel on the floor, she walked to Jack's side of the bed, and used the soft lights in the room to study his face.

It came as something of a shock to realize that she hadn't ever really looked at him. Sure, there was the moment where they first met, when his face was smudged with dirt and sweat, fresh with victory. But after that, her attention had been focused solely on Desmond, her and Jack's few encounters having been less than tantalizing. Now, under the dim manufactured lights, she had to recognize again that he was indeed a handsome man; tall, lean and muscular, with the sort of earnest features that could save your life and disarm you all at once. From the way he was sleeping on his side, she could see his tattoo clearly, and she took the time to explore the Asian characters, the slanted pyramid, and the mysterious number '5.' There was a question in the decorations, beguiling the standard connotation of 'good doctor.'

Jack's eyes opened, feeling her stare. Somehow, Kate wasn't surprised to see them open, and rather than start, she just let him look at her, the skimpy black slip hiding and revealing nothing.

"So you didn't hate it."

Kate looked away, her chin sticking out just a little. "So?"

It was something she didn't want to admit, though she knew it was obvious. Knowing she couldn't hide her reactions didn't make them any more pleasant to life with, though.

Jack's hand found her own, tugged her towards him. "So come back to bed."

_It's only an act_, she tried to convince herself, as she allowed Jack to slip the straps from her shoulders, and let the nightgown slide down her already responding body.

A third time that night, and again the next morning, he took her. Kate thought that after their first coupling it would become routine, but each time was decidedly different. At first, Jack had been driven by a pure, undiluted lust which had hardly slacked the rest of the night, but in the morning, he woke her slowly. It was hard to feign sleep with Jack's lips trailing along her side, and then down the plate of her chest, until his mouth was teasing her already awake nipples into taut, warm peaks.

Kate wanted to lounge in bed afterwards, her body exhausted from their activities. A glance to the bed-side alarm clock proved it was barely eight in the morning, and whether or not Jack's arm was draped over her, she was going to give in to her drowsiness.

Jack had other plans. With a chaste kiss to the side of her neck, he leapt from the bed and wandered into the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open and shut.

"You didn't buy anything," he declared, loud enough for her to hear. Kate didn't respond, not wanting to admit even to herself that she wasn't in the practice of giving credence to "tomorrow." Jack stepped back inside the bedroom.

"Hungry?" he asked, looking for something to wear. When he turned away for a moment, Kate noticed the red scratches over his shoulders, and a thrilled sort of shameful shudder flowed down her spine.

Grumbling imperceptibly (and hastily stamping down of any sort of imagery that threatened her mental balance), Kate tried to roll over, looking for a spot that didn't smell like either of them. Jack chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah, come on, sleepy head."

The endearment made Kate stiffen, and it propelled her from bed and into the shower. Jack must've picked the lock, because she had barely started washing her hair when the glass door opened, and a very naked Jack stepped in with her.

"Don't I get any privacy?" she asked angrily.

Jack grinned at her, arms wrapping around her soapy body, and pressed his entire length against her. She could already feel him getting hard again. Kate gasped and wriggled away, making quick work of rinsing the shampoo from her hair and trying her best to fling some sort of distasteful product in his direction. Jack only laughed, and it was with delayed self-loathing that she realized she felt compelled to join him.

Kate was sure to be dressed by the time he came out, trying to look as absorbed as possible in the travel magazine that had been left out before she got there. But when he stepped over to the pile of tuxedo that had been so hastily discarded the night before, she had to rouse his attention.

"Are we brunching with the Queen?"

Jack chuckled, making Kate regret trying a joke. "No, I've got a change of clothes in the trunk of the car." He fished his car keys from his pants pocket, and tossed them towards her. Kate caught them, her sacrificed magazine falling to the ground. "Get them, will you?"

It was a test of power and Kate knew it. For some reason she retrieved the gym bag anyway, carting it back upstairs like an over-eager puppy. And was that what she was? Kate had…had to admit to herself that the sex was such that she wanted more, and it was with a certain amount of spite that she threw the tote at him and retrieved the glossy magazine from where it had been carefully laid on the coffee table.

They went somewhere out of town for breakfast, to a hotel farther along the coast and where Jack wasn't as likely to be recognized. Kate suddenly found herself famished, and, not caring whether Jack approved or not, ordered and ate large. If he noticed, he didn't let on, instead disappearing behind a copy of _The New York Times_, not emerging until she was annoyedly tapping her empty coffee mug against the table.

"I feel like marionette."

"Oh?" Jack folded the sheets of the paper together carefully, setting them in such a neat pile she wasn't sure if they'd been actually read. "Why's that."

Kate stared into the bottom of her empty coffee mug. The thought had just come to her randomly. Most of their breakfast, she had sort of appreciated that Jack wasn't the most talkative in the morning, either, but when she lacked something to do, the desolate feelings came back to her in a rush. "You know, like I'm just suspended here, waiting for someone to pull the strings."

Jack leaned into her personal space, so that he could speak at barely a whisper. The gesture wasn't for the people sitting around them—of which there were few—but to make Kate's nerve endings light up, which he accomplished gracefully. "You are not made of wood, Kate. You proved that last night."

Kate sucked in her breath, and looked away, trying to force an expression of disgust.

"You were all set to lie there like a martyr, but you couldn't. You're too sensual, Kate, and you like it too much."

She glared out the window. "I hate you."

Jack grinned. "No, you don't. You hate how I make you feel."

He hailed the check.

"Can you cook?"

"Excuse me?"

Jack shifted the paper carefully and laid down his credit card when the bill came, not bothering to look at it.

"You didn't buy anything. I was wondering if you knew how to cook."

"Oh," Kate paused, suddenly uncomfortable. "No, not really." It was only a semi-lie.

Jack grinned. "You know, somehow I thought you'd say that. Okay then, just get breakfast stuff, and we can eat out nights. Oh," he paused to sign his name when the receipt came back, and then stood with his hand to her, "You're also going to need a suitcase."

"What for?"

He looked at her skeptically, as he unlocked his car by remote once they were in the small parking lot. "We're not going to stay in Cowes forever, Kate."

"I know that," she responded, antagonistically. There was another question to ask, but she didn't feel like making their relationship easy. "How many days should I buy food for?"

They slipped inside the small black sports car as if they both were used to it, buckling seatbelts as the radio flicked into life. "Two days, then we leave on Monday." Jack seemed to want her to ask the questions, and she forced herself not to. Whether the vagueness was intended or not, it still left Kate feeling insecure, without much of a future to look forward to. But despite the bitterness, Kate felt glad at the prospect of leaving England. Nothing good had come of her living there.

"I'll need some money."

Jack fished inside his back pocket and withdrew his wallet, tossing it to her absently. "Take whatever you need from in there." The gesture surprised her, but it seemed like Jack wasn't phased, as he started to fiddle with the radio dial, looking for a station. Kate bit her lip, and then withdrew a conservative amount, dropping the standard leather accessory in the cupholder after slipping the cash into her pocket. Jack glanced at her when his wallet grazed his arm. "I'll drop you off in town and you can get a cab back to the apartment."

Kate looked up. "Aren't you coming with me?"

Jack paused in searching the dial, and for a quick moment their eyes connected. "I have to be on the _Elizabeth_ in less than an hour, Kate. Haven't you been watching the races?"

Tellingly, Kate looked out the window. She could practically hear him frown.

"Well, you might as well know that we won. I wouldn't even really need to be there except we're celebrating one last time before everyone starts going home."

Kate turned back to him, and before she could stop herself, she was leaning into him, letting him feel all the curves she could press against him over the stick shift. "Then don't go," she murmured, "Stay with me."

It was her own test of power, a power both of them knew she didn't have. Jack might have paused to smell the scent in her hair, feel the softness against the cheek he hadn't shaved yet, but he was pulling away and putting the car into reverse before she could readjust herself. There was a steeliness in his voice when he pulled up at the market, and unlocked the doors to let her out.

"I'll see you later tonight."

Kate wasn't much bothered by his reaction, just as she hadn't been phased by much over the last four days. Her life was now a wandering mess of unplanned circumstance, a dice she had rolled and Jack was now keeping, refusing to show her number.

* * *

**end notes: **WHOA that chapter was long. Damn. Applaud yourselves for friggen _reading that_, wow. That was over 6000 words! …Anyway…drop a review if you enjoyed. They certainly make my job easier :D


	6. now i'm a crashed credit card registered

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part six: now i'm a crashed credit card registered to smith)  
****by:** AliLamba  
**rated: **Ee, I think this is going to have to be my first real R/"M," and that's strongly bordering on "MA." I mean, I arguably get more explicit (I really can't say that I've shied away from such in the past) later on, but this chapter…well…um, it stops where it does.  
**notes: **I was about here when I started posting. It's already much, much longer than the original, but I think I'm just delaying the second half. Yes, that's second _half_, as I've just finished outlining the twelfth, and final chapter. But yes. I'm trying at least to make sure the chapters don't get shorter (they seem to be doing just the opposite, actually)… I suppose I could have always split all these chapters in two, but that would be review-gouging, I think, more than anything, especially since I tend to write them in the chapter forms you see here (and maybe they flow like that?). Ha, that being said, reviews really make me happy :D As does the ending of this chapter. Even **I** squee with fangirl-y delight.

**clean version is over at my LJ again: **alilamba-writes (dot) livejournal (dot) com (forward slash) 3524 (dot) html

* * *

Kate bought the groceries Jack had asked her to pick up, but on the cab ride back to the apartment, exhaustion at having been awake most of the night before swept over her like a tidal wave. Rather than take the time to put things away carefully, she tossed the plastic grocery sacks directly into the refrigerator and slunk into the bedroom.

Obviously a maid had been in. The bed was made, clothing folded and neatly piled atop the dresser. Kate tried to block the images they evoked as she ripped back the sheets, shed her own clothes, and slipped under the covers. Sleep claimed her easily, only teasing her into wakefulness when a shadow interrupted the sunlight that had been touching her face.

She barely had to creak her eyes open to know it was Jack, and her immediate reaction was to bring the sheets up over herself more snuggly. Her eyes blinked open, slowly focusing, and then she tried to sit up.

"No," Jack murmured, his hand on her shoulder. "Stay where you are."

Kate rocked his hand off her. "No, I want to get up," she protested. Jack pinned her shoulder to the mattress in one strong push, and suddenly, his lips were mere inches from hers, his salty sea breath fresh against her mouth. "No!" Kate struggled to turn her head away, "No, I hate you!"

There was a deep, hollow chuckle at this, and then Jack's hand was on her chin, forcing her lips towards his and forcing a kiss upon them. If you could even call it a kiss. Jack was asserting to her that he could have kissed her if he wanted to, a fact she very well understood.

"You keep saying that."

Kate made a show of wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned away from him. Warm liquid had already begun to pool below her abdomen. "Because it's true." She tried to throw the words at him, and scamper away quickly, but Jack was faster. He dropped a hand in her path, stopping her, then wound his other around her wrists and brought them against the pillow above her head. The sheets and blankets had slipped in her struggle to get away, and she could feel Jack's heat drift along the bare back she had exposed to him from where she lay on her side.

Kate tried to shut her eyes, but the effect was a flutter, as Jack's free hand ran down the length of her spine. His breath fell against her shoulder, at the spread of skin that covered the tendons of her neck, and Kate felt her body thaw under his ministrations.

"Do you really want me to stop?" Jack's question was barely a whisper, his hand just as close to her core, and the consequence made her shudder in blatant anticipation.

"Yes," she breathed, tempting the vestige of defiance.

Jack stilled, and before Kate could really realize what was happening, his hands were slipping away from her, back from under the sheets.

And despite her better judgment, Kate turned back towards him, and grabbed his hand before it left her completely. "No!"

* * *

As he promised, Jack took her to dinner that night, to a small fish and chips place Kate had often wanted to afford. Nearly everything they ate was fried, but still delicious, and they both took a sick sort of pleasure in drowning it all in tartar sauce.

She said something that made them both laugh—a practice she was learning was almost unavoidable. As much as she was trying to be finicky, to get Jack to abandon her as quickly as possible, Kate's tongue would sort of spur jokes of its own accord. The offending muscle had already been sorely bitten more than once.

It was after one of these healthy chuckles, when they could both feel their stomachs reaching capacity, that Jack leaned back in his chair. Kate glanced up, half a french fry hanging out of her mouth.

"Don't tell me I out-ate you already, doctor."

Jack grinned, sated in more than one way.

"I want to know something about you."

The request came almost out of nowhere, making the strip of fried potato turn to lead in her mouth. A strong sip of ice water pushed it down, though the effort seemed to rid her of her appetite.

"What do you wanna know?"

Kate tried to sound aloof, but she was having trouble making eye contact.

Jack followed her gaze, and chuckled. "Kate, I don't think you'll make it out that window." She glanced at him, wondered how obvious it was that she had been unconsciously probing her exits. "Why don't we try something simple? Like how you ended up in Cowes."

Her lap drew her interest, and Kate picked absently at the paper napkin she had so ceremoniously draped across her thighs some twenty minutes before.

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"No," Jack conceded, "But it might make things easier."

A steeliness tightened her jaw. "How soon before you get tired of me?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically, the jibe sounding weak even to her own ears.

"Just, answer the question Kate."

Her paper napkin was already starting to shred between her fingers, but Kate looked back out the window. No, there wouldn't be any harm in telling him how she got to England. But she didn't want to invite any more questions, questions that would require honest answers. Kate tried to shrug disparagingly.

"College, I guess. I got a grant to examine some of the older lineages of 'civilized' peoples. Obviously," she couldn't help but include, "your family didn't make the list."

Jack smiled laughingly. "Obviously."

She couldn't help but grin a little in response. "Yeah, well, it was mostly supposed to be in the more provincial areas of France and England, places where people would obsessively trace their heritage back a few centuries. We were going to write a book, I guess you could say…" Painful memories came back on the heels of bitter disappointment, and Kate decided that was enough. "Well, needless to say, it didn't work out. Who the hell wants a book about old people from the middle of no where, right? So, yeah. Grant revoked, we're all out of work. Fun story."

Jack's expression was sort of…quiet. Almost respectful. Kate didn't like it, so she picked up a whole mini handful of fries and dunked it in the small cup of mayonnaise-relish sauce.

"You couldn't fly back home?"

Kate let out a mirthless sort of laugh. "See, this is where I mention that I got a bug that looked too much like Mad-Cow Disease."

"Are you serious?"

"Yup. Turned out to be nothing, but no one would let me on a plane."

Jack was almost squinting in disbelief. "What did it end up being?"

Kate stuffed the fries in her mouth and started chewing. "You really think I could afford health care?"

"Yeah, but, the American consulate…"

"I have my own reasons for not wanting to visit them, thanks."

Jack fell silent, allowing Kate to chew the fries and sauce into mash and swallow them down.

"Okay…so, you got sick. But you couldn't find a job somewhere around here? Maybe back in London?"

Kate wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb and sucked off the sauce that she found there, not noticing how Jack's gaze was automatically rooted to the spot. "You're assuming that I didn't try everything before I met you, Jack. I was sick for awhile, then I looked for work for awhile…and then, I don't know, someone from back home thought that my being in England could be useful to them. And you know, I survived."

It seemed like Jack was only half-listening now, but before Kate could ask him what his deal was, the doctor was leaning forward, and his thumb came against her cheek. A soft gasp escaped her lungs at the sudden gesture, and as her mouth fell open, she could feel the rough pad of his thumb against her tongue, and the partly sweet, partly sour taste of tartar.

Their eyes connected, a stirred sort of desire obvious in Jack's gaze. Seeing her staring at him must have jolted something like conscious thought back into his brain, because he slipped his finger from her mouth and tried to cough discretely.

"I'll, uh…I'll get the check."

* * *

They stayed in for the rest of the night, coaxing and exploring each other's bodies at length. Kate learned quickly that Jack already knew hers well, though he still seemed to find pleasure when she responded so readily to his touches. They were reactions she had found were undeniable, and somewhere along the line, Kate stopped trying to hide them. It only seemed to make him happier when she did, anyway.

In the morning, he roused her slowly from sleep with languid kisses against her jaw…and made them breakfast.

Kate stayed adamantly in bed to be served, pouring herself over the lighter sections of the newspaper Jack had had delivered. He joined her with mugs of steaming black coffee, making a mess of what sections she had left him. Kate was somewhat amused that they could already be so comfortable being so relatively naked with each other. Well, the bed sheets were still tucked steadfastly underneath her arms, but somehow, she didn't have the impulse to pull on a nightgown or a t-shirt while she munched on toast in bed with a boxer briefs-clad Jack.

The realization didn't sit well.

Losing her appetite, Kate dropped her remaining piece of toast onto the "Dining In" section and flopped back against the pillows, pulling the covers up to her chin with a shallow sort of sigh. It wasn't like she immediately felt the urge to cover up…it was just…depressing, that she should already be so wanton with him. It made her feel sort of sordid all over again.

Jack seemed to be finished eating as well. She felt the dip of the mattress as Jack stood up, could hear his bare feet pacing the floor as he looked for some vestige of clothing. It took him a moment to remember that they were strewn across the foyer in the next room. And while Kate had hoped that he would dress in there, he wandered back into the bedroom only in jeans, pulling on a dressier shirt and moving to her side of the bed. Kate watched him start to work on the lowest buttons.

"I noticed you didn't buy a suitcase."

Kate _mm_-ed and dropped her hand to her forehead, turning away for a moment. "I'll get it today. Where are we going?"

"Senegal, then L.A., and then," he shrugged, "wherever business takes me." She could feel him look at her, like he was unsure of how to say what he said next. "If you have any family you need to keep in contact with, you should call them before we leave."

Kate didn't even blink. "I don't have any family."

There was an eerie stillness, as Jack's movement slowed to a stop. Kate turned back to look at him, feeling his stare, and then she realized that that particular aspect of her life hadn't come up yet between them. She panicked for a moment, praying that he wouldn't feel like he had the right to ask questions. Kate tried to shrug it off. "What, you really think I'd be here if I did?"

The question really did die on his lips then. His probing stare turning cold, Jack forced a chuckle as he resumed buttoning up his shirt.

"Where are you going?"

Jack crossed to the dresser and pulled out a fresh pair of socks. "Family stuff, business stuff. Have to help Desmond accept our award. And no," he didn't bother to look at her, "you can't come."

Kate riled. "Maybe I didn't want to come."

Jack returned to her side of the bed after putting on his shoes. He took his time to look over her bare shoulders and arms, her unwashed face devoid of make-up.

"I'll be back tonight." It looked like he wanted to kiss her, and Kate turned away, onto her stomach, trying to indicate that he should leave.

There was another heavy pause, where both seemed to be withholding their movements. Kate wondered whether he would force himself upon her again, and the air seemed thick with the possibility… But in a quick moment he was turning and leaving, the front door clicking loudly shut behind him.

It didn't take much for Kate to realize she was now just the opposite of tired, her skin having lit in the anticipation that Jack would touch her. She hated her body for it, and punished herself with a very cold shower.

Once dressed, in clothes newly purchased which suited her immensely, Kate came to the conclusion that all she had to do in the next ten hours was to buy a suitcase. She realized that mistresses must be very bored with themselves, probably spent all their time preening and being available for their lover's every whim. Not the sort of life that her mother raised her for.

She wanted to spend more time being lazy around the apartment, but Kate couldn't find anything to do, and before long she was restless enough to propel herself outside. Jack had left her cash for a cab, but Kate decided to walk, skidding her heels of her flats against the pavement as she hummed lightly to herself. The day was gorgeous—bright and sunny, a cool breeze dispersing the warm, stagnant air.

There was no reason why she shouldn't have noticed Sawyer.

"_Freckles?_" The call reached her ears when she was mid-way through a busy street full of cars stopped at a stoplight, and Kate froze when she heard the voice. Sawyer Ford was bounding towards her, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt. "Freckles! Well, ain't it funny, runnin' into you again."

A horn blared in their direction, and they both looks up as if caught. Sawyer ushered her quickly onto the sidewalk.

"I didn't think you'd still be in town," Kate admitted once they were safely on the other side of the road.

"Yeah, me neither, the way that damned _Elizabeth_ whooped us on Tuesday. Damn, you'd think they were racin' the devil the way they were…" It didn't take much calculation to figure out Tuesday was the day after her unveiling.

_Huh. Well, at least I was good for something…_

"…lunch?"

Kate blinked, and reclaimed the gaze that had shifted out of focus. "I'm sorry?"

Sawyer stared at her blankly for a second, and then he chuckled. "Geez, do I gotta get you a satellite dish 'r somethin'?" When she didn't say anything in response, his amusement somewhat abated. "No, I uh, was just wonderin' if you were too busy for lunch. What with our bein' so close to a nice little rest'rant 'n all."

Kate looked down her dress shorts, to her shoes, and then at the road that passed behind them. Jack never said she couldn't make friends… _Damn it_, Jack never said she couldn't make friends.

"You know what? I would love to have lunch with you, Sawyer."

He grinned.

* * *

The 'nice little restaurant' they ducked into together was made for intimate gatherings. It was small, certainly, and definitely posh in the yacht-club sort of way. The house chef specialized in lobster chowder, but they didn't get much past ordering drinks.

"So, when you headin' back to the mainland, Freckles?"

Kate smiled at the nickname now. Slowly fingering her gin and tonic, she let her gaze focus on the sugared rim of her glass. "You know, I'm not sure."

"Uh-huh," he practically snorted, obviously recognizing she was being deliberately coy, "Well then, you wanna tell me where you ran off to Friday night? Sprain your ankle or somethin'?"

"Huh?"

"Well, the good doctor only seemed too obliged to help you outta there."

Now Kate couldn't help but bite her lip, as memories started to poke at her consciousness. A healthy blush was rising to her cheeks, and Kate tried to stamp it down with a questioning stare in Sawyer's direction.

"You really don't know, do you?"

Sawyer grinned, the expression tinged with ulterior motive. "Know what," he practically purred.

"Oh, _Mrs. Shephard! _How nice of you to join us for lunch this afternoon." Kate froze. The sound of the maitre-d's voice had drifted to their table, all sugary sweet, as if they were close, personal friends. But it was nothing compared to what came next.

"And you brought your charming," the host faltered for only a second, "daughter."

"_Step_-daughter," Nikki's cool voice reminded him, "Please, do I really look like someone's _mother_?" She laughed, shrilly.

"No, no, of course not! Table for two, I take it?"

"Not today, darling, we're meeting a friend."

Kate practically jumped in her seat, as Sawyer started to shift in his.

_What in the…_

And then it hit her. Nikki and Claire were there to have lunch with Sawyer.

Kate's sudden, aghast stare could've burned holes into Sawyer's face. Seeing her sudden wrath, Sawyer could only grin sheepishly, as he stood and hailed the two women by the door.

"Nikki! Claire! Over here, ladies."

"_Sawyer_," Kate growled, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and dragging it towards her. She only managed to make him stumble a little. "_Sawyer, what the hell are you doin'._"

Nikki and Claire hadn't seen her yet, but the look Sawyer was darting in Kate's direction made it clear he wasn't going to distract or deter them. Kate spun away from him, and tried to look for a discrete exit, but the sudden movement drew attention to her face, and it was with a dual, scandalized gasp that she was recognized.

"_James_," Nikki's voice was murderous as she entered the man's proximity, "What the _fuck_ is going on here."

"Now, c'mon now Nikki, let's try to be civil…"

"…K…Kate?"

Biting her lip, Kate knew she could escape no longer. Slowly, she turned in her seat, until Claire's big blue eyes came into focus. She didn't want to look meek, but Kate couldn't help it, and in the face of the friend she had hoped to know, her small wave was anything but.

"James, I don't know what _game_ you're playing at, but there is _no way_ I will be sharing a table with _her_." Nikki cast a distasteful glare at Kate, but found it too much to actually personally address her.

"Don't worry," Kate stood shakily. "I'm leaving."

"Hey, wait a darn minute there, Freckles. I'm the one that invited you all, and if you're expectin' me to pay for that drink, you bet your ass you're going to share it with me. Nikki, Claire, you'll sit down too. 'Cause y'er makin' a damn scene."

The last sentiment seemed to ring home for the elder Shephard, because with a furtive glance at her surroundings, she slipped gracefully into the extra chair to Sawyer's immediate left.

"I'll have a martini, Jeeves, dirty and dry."

Kate hadn't noticed the maitre-d still hovering around their table, but his conservative nametag certainly didn't say 'Jeeves.'

"O-of course, madam."

Nikki took her time tugging each individual finger from the gloves she was wearing, before settling eye contact on Kate. Claire managed to sit on her step-mother's side, forcing Kate closer to Sawyer.

"I expect you planned this, then?" Kate opened her mouth, thinking to protest, but it seemed that Mrs. Shephard wouldn't have any of it. "I won't even bother to _ask_ how you knew that we were meeting, because I don't want to involve the police in any of this." Kate frowned, her mouth dropping open again, but Nikki's drink came, and the woman was too busy ignoring Kate to let her say anything anyway. "_So_, out with it then. What, are you _pregnant_ now? Have some sort of _blackmail_ scheme you want to air?" She didn't touch her drink, but started bobbing her foot up and down, throwing irritated and loathsome looks at Sawyer.

"Hey, you just wait a darn minute there, Nikki." It was Sawyer, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that whatever his goal had been, things weren't going according to plan. "Me and Kate ran into each other plum outta the blue." Nikki snorted, turning away. Claire was staring into her lap, a look of mounting fury blooming across her face.

"It's true, Nikki. Sawyer didn't plan to invite me here, and I didn't know you were coming." She tried to convey with her tone of voice that she was just as irritated (if not more so) with the American for thrusting this meeting upon them, but it didn't seem like either Hume woman was interesting in having anything in common with her. Nikki suddenly leaned into the table, her hand falling against the linen-covered wood with a _smack_.

"Look, I don't know what you're playing at, _Katherine_, but you should know that Jack won't _ever_ fall in love with you."

_What? _"Excuse me, but I want nothing to do with your step-son," Kate's voice was more savage than she intended, and she remembered Claire's presence a moment too slow.

Nikki snorted again, the tapping of her leg against the other increasing in pace. "Yeah right. First you can't get Desmond, so what, you just go to the next best thing! Just because Jack was married once before, doesn't mean he'll ever do it again."

Kate's breath caught in her chest. _Jack had been…married?_

"_Nikki_," the quiet voice came from the woman's side, and all eyes turned towards Claire. It was obvious the young blonde was trying to hold back tears. "Nikki, let's just go."

But it seemed like Sawyer had finally regained his senses, after having been reeling at so many things having gone so unlike he had expected. "No, wait, I think we all need to apologize here—"

"_James, she's a prostitute_." A hush fell over the table, as more than one pair of eyes dove to the tablecloth. Nikki's description was accurate enough. Sawyer frowned.

"Now, wait just a minute there—"

"No, _you_ wait a minute." Claire had stood, shakily, to her feet, and was now glaring at Sawyer with such abject despondency that the American was stunned into silence. "I don't know what the hell you were trying to do, okay, but it's enough."

Sawyer glanced towards Kate, but if he was looking for back-up, he was sorely mistaken if he thought that it would come from her. Nikki rose next to her step-daughter, glowering at Sawyer, and Kate could see what she was going to do before anyone had time to react.

Nikki picked up her drink, and threw it in Sawyer's face.

"Let's go, Claire."

In one swish of colored skirts, both women turned, not bothering to explain to the maitre-d why they would likely never see him again.

There was a stunned silence at their table, and then Sawyer quietly picked up a cloth napkin and started to wipe the splashes of dirty, dry martini from his face.

"Well, that's what you get fer tryin' to play nice…" he grumbled, raising an eyebrow in Kate's direction. He stumbled over himself when he saw that she was glowering as well, a frown marring her perfectly shaped brows. "Oh, no, not you too. What is this, joint menstruation?"

Kate's jaw shifted as she ground her teeth in a new direction. "No, Sawyer, what you did wasn't right. If me and Claire a-and…Nikki…were supposed to get back together as friends, then it should've been us to be the ones to decide how and when."

"Are you kiddin' me? You're seriously takin' _Cruella's_ side?"

Kate's brow furrowed, as she turned her glare to her lap. "No, I…I'm not defending her, I'm just sayin', you didn't deserve to do that."

"She called you—!" Sawyer swept his gaze around the small restaurant, and then lowered his voice as he leaned towards her. "She called you a _whore_, Freckles. That ain't right."

She couldn't even compel her limbs to stiffen, as she had to look away in shame. There was nothing in her heart that thought she could refute the testimony, not after…not after she had played to Jack's whims so easily, now embraced his advances so welcomingly. From the recesses of her consciousness, she could hear Sawyer's quiet gasp, but she didn't turn around. He swallowed, licked his lips, and then from the corner of her eye, she could see his jaw set.

"Now, I don't know what's goin' on here, Freckles, but if you need anythin' at all, you don't even need to ask."

A fire sparked inside her chest, and Kate found the strength to sit up. Her grip tightened around her drink, and in one sweeping motion, she stood. Sawyer's eyes widened as he adjusted to her new position, and took in the gin and tonic she was still clutching in her manicured first.

"Now, hold on a second…"

"Don't worry," Kate spat, "I would never waste good booze."

She took a final swig of the drink and then slammed the glass down, skipping from the table and out of the small establishment before Sawyer could muster anything to say in response.

Kate felt like she was on fire, as she scanned the heads of the crowds assembled on the sidewalk. Half-way down the block, she could see Claire and Nikki hailing a cab, and she had to fight with herself to stop from calling out to them. As much as she wanted to commiserate about what a…a _cad_ Sawyer had been about the whole process, she knew they wouldn't want to hear it. Not from her, and not right now. So Kate watched mutely as they stepped into the first cab that stopped, and then she hailed the next one she saw.

Kate took her time as she bought the suitcase, the most expensive one in the shop, and then wandered into a small, family-owned pharmacy to pick up toiletries. With the last of her money, she splurged on an outrageously priced bottle of wine, but couldn't wait for Jack to get back to the apartment before she popped it open and had a glass…or two.

When Jack came home that evening, late (so late that he came in with take-out), the first thing she noticed was that he was in a bad mood. He didn't come right out and say it, and was certainly polite enough, making small talk over dinner and taking her to bed immediately afterwards. But rather than lay there while they both came down, he rolled out of bed, and slipped into a fresh pair of boxer briefs before making his way into the living room. She could hear the clink of glass and ice, as Jack made himself a drink, and then the television flicked into life, the sounds of some soccer match echoing through the open door.

To say that she was disappointed wouldn't be the right word, but she was…put off, by his dismissal, and it didn't take long for her to realize that there wasn't anything to be accomplished by squandering time in the next room away from him. Unable to sleep (she blamed the noise, but knots had bunched her shoulders, and she couldn't massage the tension away), she stood from the bed and slipped on a smaller camisole, padding gently through the doorway and slipping onto the opposite end of the couch.

"Who's winning?" she asked, rhetorically, the score beaming through the darkness from the upper right-hand corner of the television screen. Jack didn't answer. After a quiet minute, and a failed goal attempt by the home-team, Jack turned the television off and stood, heading back towards the bedroom. Kate couldn't stop herself from asking the question.

"Are you leaving?"

Jack paused in the doorway, his neck and shoulders visibly stiff. "Why, are you inviting someone over?"

The unexpected bitterness in his voice hit her hard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jack turned around, and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Are you playing around with Sawyer Ford?"

Kate couldn't even muster a gasp at that. Her gaze turned into a glare. "I don't deserve that from you."

"Oh no?"

"No!" Kate turned away, wanting to recall her outburst of emotion. "_No_," she started again, "I don't 'play around' as you call it."

Jack didn't yield. "You're hardly in a position to make that sort of assertion."

Kate felt herself color, but consciously refused to back down either. "This is different."

She could feel his gaze narrow against her face, but Kate couldn't look him in the eye. "This is…I consider this to be a business arrangement, and I have no intention of breaking our deal…_or_ seeking a new one."

"Why not? Sawyer's good looking enough, and he's got money, and status. I'm sure he'd make you a great offer."

That sharpened Kate's nerves, and in a flush of rage, she looked up at him.

"You men disgust me."

That compelled Jack into motion. With feigned shock, he stepped back into the room. "Ouch! Kate, I didn't know you had it in you." Kate's jaw thickened, and she clamped her mouth shut. "But would that be all men? Or just men who are interested in you sexually."

Kate's mouth twisted into a sneer, but she didn't move from where she was still perched on the couch, turned away from him as Jack came closer. "Not all men. Nikki's not so precious herself. Sawyer's right about her—she needs less men in her life."

Jack had reached her, his hand extending to the stretch of skin between her shoulder blades. "Somehow, I don't think they'll be seeing each other after today."

She wanted to shrink away from him, deny him access to her skin, but Kate felt it already forfeited. As Jack moved in front of her and lifted her against his chest, Kate didn't bother to try to stop her legs from winding around his waist. Jack's breathing came against her neck as she leaned her face against his shoulder, letting him take her back into the bedroom.

She thought he would drop her to the mattress, but instead he turned around and sat, keeping her against his lap as his hands traveled her back and pushed up the silk of her nightgown. Kate shuddered against his chest as his hands slipped against her inner thigh, and she felt him grin against her skin.

"_This_," Kate swallowed, relieving her dry throat. "_This isn't love_."

That warm, rich chuckle reverberated again from Jack's chest, and Kate questioned too slowly why she felt the need to assert that distinction. "Feminine shades of distinction," he whispered, pressing kisses along her collar bone. Kate sucked in a gasp when he reached her neck, his lips applying pressure as he sucked softly at her skin. "What would you," he started, his hands now rushing to tug the slip over her head, "What would you call it then?"

He seemed to calm down some when the offending garment was littered across the floor, taking time to run his hands up and down her bare back.

"_Lust_," she breathed, lolling her head against his shoulder, even as she moved her pelvis to press against the bulge straining against the thin cotton of his briefs. "_Pure…male…gratification…_"

Jack let out a hiss as she rubbed herself against him, and it was a wonder they were still both able to ground out conscious thought. "You like this too," he whispered into her neck, as his hands drifted against her hips to still her movements. "And you need a man to make you feel like this. You'll always need a man." His hands slid up her stomach and rested over her breasts, letting the taut peaks slide against his fingers. Kate's shoulders arched towards him, the warm wetness already evident against the heady pulse between her thighs. "And as long as it's my money, Kate," Jack leaned back against the covers, leaving her sitting upright across his groin. "I intend to be that man—the only man. Do you understand, Kate?"

She didn't care what he was saying. The thick and thrilling need for _more_ was already pumping through her veins, making her tongue thick in her mouth. Jack's hands settled at her waist and tightened, forcing her attention to his face. "Do you?"

Kate bit her lip, searching for the impulse to turn away. "Yes," she breathed, trying to regain some sense of control with the sound of her own voice. But at her quiet admonition, Jack's hands started to move down her thighs, down to her knees, and then more intimately, up again. Kate wriggled as his fingers got closer, and she started tugging his briefs down his thighs, the molten pulse within her pelvis almost painfully wanting to be recognized. She moved to lie beside him, so he would take her from above, like she was used to, but his fingers stilled her, kept her upright.

"Good," he murmured, as the last of their combined clothing fell against the floor. "So why don't you keep up your end of the bargain."

* * *

**end notes: **Yeah, I'm terrible. But c'mon, like your imaginations REALLY couldn't go from there ;D Anyway, as usual, drop a review if you can. In complete honesty, I was stuck, majorly stuck in terms of finding inspiration to finish the eigth chapter, and reading your reviews got me going. No lie, really, thank you so much for all your nice words. Heh. And keep 'em coming, if you can!


	7. wanted everything to stop that bad

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part seven: wanted everything to stop that bad)  
****by:**AliLamba  
**rated: **This one's still M…though really, could have gotten this far avoiding them?  
**thanks:** Tiffie, again...you make the sun shine :D  
**notes: **_Wow_, okay, this fic might be getting away from me. I thought that I would be half-way through by this chapter, and, well, I probably am, but I should really stop writing all these misc. bits that I want to throw in later, or explore all these other off-shoots that I could've also seen happening. But you know what? I really only started writing this because I wanted something Jate that I really enjoyed, thoroughly enjoyed, and this has been that for me. It's a way for me to read that ripped off story and not feel too dirty about it, because I've adapted the ideas that I liked. Anyway. These intro-things are getting too long.

p.s. Hanna! You don't have an email listed, so this is how I'm going to reach you. "Extramarital" means literally 'outside of marriage' so strangely, the title of mistress is correct. It is weird, how the word is so popularly used only for an 'other woman' though :)

p.p.s. Bah, you guys, I technically get until Friday :) But Rice, dang you, you'll get me to post it tonight. That, and I'm just so freakin' hung up on the spoilers for next week. Go and read the other fic I posted, though! It's strip poker. How can you go wrong, for serious.

**Clean version here: **alilamba-writes (dot) livejournal (dot) com (forward slash) 5637 (dot) htmlf

* * *

Kate had idly wondered if they would be taking a private jet to Senegal, but she was somewhat pleased to learn that they would be flying as commercially as anyone else. Well, that was after the small private jet into London, yes, but after there, amenities were _only_ first-class.

Not that Kate had ever experienced such luxury on a plane before.

While she had settled in to one of the leather armchairs for the first leg a bit awkwardly, not bothering to hide the inspecting sweeps her gaze made around the main cabin, Jack couldn't have been more at ease: he took the seat across from her, buckled his seat belt, and pulled out his laptop almost immediately. A quiet steward made herself known from behind Kate's shoulder (Cindy, her nametag read), and Kate ordered a mineral water when the woman pressed her for an order. She felt anxious enough in the confined space with Jack to want to add vodka, but it was still, of course, barely eight thirty in the morning.

Kate fiddled with the controls on the armrest for a moment, putting on headphones and skipping the channels. They were mostly modern instrumental compositions, she found, but one button on the control panel accidentally yielded a video screen, and with a shock of amusement, Kate noticed a few of the games she had been playing with Claire a few days before. _Trying to please…?_

Kate looked up furtively, meaning to only glance in Jack's direction, but she found him staring at her with an laughing sort of smile. It made her feel suddenly defensive.

"What?"

Jack shook his head, still grinning. But he didn't look away, and Kate found herself suddenly shifting uncomfortably.

"Jack, please don't tell me you want to join the mile high club."

His eyebrows quirked in amusement, and it was a moment before he spoke. "Do you?"

"_No,_" she emphasized with a glare.

Jack's grin turned a bit devilish, but he merely contented himself to a closed smile before disappearing behind his laptop again.

Cindy came back a few minutes after take-off with an assortment of pastries, and Kate chose a bagel with a pack of cream cheese. She took the time to separate the two halves delicately, spreading the thick condiment and eating her breakfast slowly, not thinking of anything in particular. The boredom was slowly sucking at her, though, and after dusting the last of the crumbs off her lap, and fiddling with the entertainment system once more, she couldn't really keep herself from rapping her nails rhythmically along the leather armrest.

Jack looked up at her, and when she noticed him looking, her grin turned sheepish.

"So…" she started, fishing for some sort of amusement, "Um, why Senegal?"

Closing his laptop and putting it aside, Jack adjusted himself in his seat so he could look at her fully.

"It's a Doctors Without Borders thing, to be honest."

Kate's expression turned skeptical. "Really," she drawled.

"So you've heard of it?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd be so…so…" she sighed, looking out the window, "philanthropic, I guess. You don't strike me as the selfless type."

There was a heavy pause that made Kate turn back towards Jack. She might have expected to irritate him, but his look was bordering on lascivious. "I didn't know you were so displeased," he murmured, his innuendo obvious.

Kate had to swallow, to wet her drying throat. "_No_," she cleared her throat, turning away again, trying to fight the warmth that threatened her cheeks, "No, that's not what I meant."

But she still heard the unbuckling of his seat belt, and it made her nearly jump and stare at him. Jack didn't pause as he leaned quickly over her seat, anchoring himself with arms on either side of her slender waist.

"No?" he breathed, the puff of air hot and close enough to feel. Her gaze unconsciously darted towards his lips, as she wet her own. She had to gulp again, hard, though the brusqueness of the action allowed her the momentum to turn her head away.

"I think that should be obvious," she whispered, her voice strained.

Jack lingered over her, waited to _feel_ the anticipation radiate from her, her wet swallow, and then applied a chaste kiss to her cheek and sat back down.

She was expecting him to look superior, but he merely looked…blank.

"We'll be there for about four days," he offered. "It's really just a check-up visit for me, so, two cities and then we'll go home."

The normal breathing pattern was coming back to her, and Kate was unconsciously thankful that he hadn't tried to go further.

"You were there before?"

Jack pulled a tray-table across his lap and sat his computer upon it. While he waited for whatever it was he was working on to load, he glanced at her.

"For about four months, yes."

Kate absorbed this information slowly, and it irritated her to do so. She didn't like thinking of Jack as a humanitarian, but she was glad to realize that this new data didn't affect her distaste for him and his family. Mostly because she could imagine the P.R. person who put him up to it.

The stewardess approached again with an assortment of glossy magazines. They ranged in subject from fiscal to home decoration, yoga to extreme biking, and Kate just accepted the basket.

It turned out the second leg of their flight had been kept waiting for them, though they were off the ground again within minutes. The first-class cabin was mostly empty, save for an older looking couple and a few business types. It was a nine hour flight, and it looked like Jack intended to work through it, so Kate eventually took to chatting up the older couple. She learned that Rose and Bernard were going on safari, and that despite what Rose might protest, Bernard was anxious to shoot something. They all made each other laugh, and Kate found herself thoroughly enjoying herself in their warm and open company.

"So," Rose quieted at one point, after casting a chaste glance towards Jack. "You're here with your…"

Kate blanked for a moment, before turning half in her seat and recognizing Jack's sleeping face. _When had he…?_ She bit her lip, feeling a thread of unknown guilt, but turned away from him with a fixed, dismissive expression on her face.

"Oh, that's Jack. He's, um…" she paused, trying to find the right word when there was none. "Um, he's just a friend, you could say."

The explanation was almost too ambiguous, but neither Rose nor Bernard questioned her. Well, Rose's glance was a bit probing, yes, as if she understood completely, but Bernard merely nodded, smiling obliviously, before launching into another description of some of their planned activities for the next two weeks. They wouldn't be crossing paths again, it turned out, but it was still pleasant to have a half-way normal and innocuous conversation, for once.

An hour passed, and then Bernard started to fiddle with a portable DVD player, wanting to show off the new technology to his wife. With an amused but indulgent shared expression, Rose turned to help Bernard find the on/off switch, and Kate turned back in her seat. She looked at Jack. He was still sleeping; eyes closed and mouth parted slightly. It was strange to see him so vulnerable, and Kate didn't like it. Closing her eyes to block him out, it wasn't until she was jostled that she realized she had fallen asleep.

Her head had fallen against Jack's shoulder, and when she blinked her eyes open, she saw him smiling at her—that sort of warm, disarming smile she hadn't seen since that first day, at the polo match.

Kate bristled, nearly jumping off his shoulder as she worked to readjust her clothing.

"What?" she questioned, her voice perhaps a tad harsher than she had intended.

If a shadow passed across his face, it didn't stay for long. But there was a definite adjustment in tone, as Jack coughed into his hand, and then picked up a plate she hadn't noticed was there before.

"Dinner," he offered, reaching over her to retract her tray table, and dropping the meal on it with a napkin and set of crude but metallic silverware.

Kate stared hard at the plate, the filet of salmon in some sort of butter sauce, a plum relish for the radish and endive salad, and the warm, sesame dinner roll. It looked good, and Kate found herself suddenly hungry. She and Jack ate in silence, both casually ignoring the in-flight movie.

The plane started its descent less than an hour afterwards, and with a thick stab of foreboding, Kate looked out the window, and saw dark, ominous rainclouds crowding the late-afternoon sky. The turbulence on the way down was rough, though the landing smooth, and while the plane taxied to the gate, Kate found her gaze locked on the window. The rain that had looked bad enough from the air was now proving to look almost painful, heavy sheets dousing the runway in a clear inch of water.

She didn't say anything to Jack as they unloaded the overhead compartments, and she bade a quick good bye and good luck to Rose and Bernard. A driver was waiting for them beyond customs, and he led Jack and Kate and the people carrying their luggage to a heavy-looking four by four. There was maybe a foot gap between the cover of the airport awning and the haven of the car's interior, but Kate still found herself drenched with rain after jumping through it. Jack slipped in after her, and ran hands through his short hair to shake off the droplets.

"Why the _hell_ is it so bad out there?" she couldn't help but ask, praying that it would abate soon though it looked so much like it wouldn't. Jack gave her a quick look over.

"It's uh," he paused, laughing a little, "It's monsoon season, Kate."

Kate blanched, and her voice expressed her incredulousness. "You took me…to Africa…during monsoon season."

Jack really did laugh now, though Kate was having a hard time finding the humor in it.

"I didn't pack for monsoon season!"

This seemed to make Jack only chuckle harder, and after a quick moment, she was grinning as well. Of course, she could have realized, what with the other side of the equator. But she honestly _was_ unprepared—all her clothing had been appropriate for warm, breezy weather, not miserably cold, wet monsoons.

The plane had landed in Dakar, and the car drove them into it, through the stop-and-go of the inner city to the dead center. Kate stared outside the window, at the rain splattering everything, scattering the few people who had dared to travel through it. She felt Jack's presence come up behind her, his breath on her neck as he followed her stare.

Kate felt her eyelids flutter, as the street scene melted into abstraction. Jack's hand touched her thigh—barely graced the skin above her knee, though warm liquid bled instantly throughout her core. He heard her breath hitch, must've, because his head dipped lower, until his chin was touching her skin, the sharp stubble scratching along the sensitive surface. Out of the corner of her eye, Kate could see Jack's gaze still focused on the window.

But Jack's hand only slid higher over her thigh, until he came to the hem of her skirt and teased it up, over his fingers. She could feel every callous, leaving hot streaks against her inner thighs, up, farther, until she was unconsciously opening her knees to grant him better access. _When_… her mind asked, when had she become so…_so_… His fingers found her panties, and thought flew from her mind with a low, potent moan. If it weren't for the crash of thunder, the furious swipes of the window wipers, and the soft hums of whatever music the driver was playing…she would have forfeited the pleasure, but instead… Jack's fingers stroked her, intimately, and she could feel his breath speeding, becoming audible as he tried to control it through his nose.

And she knew, it had been a long flight for him.

It was nighttime, or near to it, when they pulled up to the hotel. Kate's skin was humming, a low, throbbing sort of desire deep within her pelvis. She thought Jack could feel it too, if there was anything to be gleaned from the tightness of his jaw, the way his steps were hurried as they walked through the lobby. Jack's hand lingered at the small of her back as he drove her towards the front desk, the maintained touch dizzying her senses to the extent that she barely recognized how posh her surroundings were.

"Dr. Shephard!" a clipped voice called from across the room, and both Jack and Kate slowed to a stop. From the limited amount of body contact, she could feel him stiffen. A tall stranger was bounding towards them, his skin the color of pure black coffee.

Jack's hand slid around her waist and lingered at the curve of her hip as the man came within hearing range, the subtlest movements of his fingers massaging the fabric of her blouse.

After giving a quick, cold look to Kate, the stranger engaged Jack immediately in conversation, and it became quickly apparent that they knew each other. Their conversation was medical, and Kate couldn't really help but to drift off, somewhat… The heat was still pulsing from the spot beneath Jack's fingers, and recognizing its affect straightened her spine.

_My God_, she thought to herself, _Have I really become so vulgar?_

"Actually, Dr. Shephard," the man started, with another covert glance to Kate that she ignored. "Actually, your patients…have been waiting…"

"I was under the impression they were stable."

The stranger's brow twitched, another tiny flick of his eyes. "Still, Dr. Shephard. We have been waiting for you for some time."

The fingers teasing Kate's side stiffened, the length of each tightening against her flesh. Kate felt her core give an aching throb, and her breath was shaky on the exhale.

"Very well. Let me see to my room, first."

"Dr. Shephard, if it's not too much trouble, I would like to impose upon you now."

Now, Jack turned to Kate. There was a thickness to his jaw that betrayed his displeasure, and Kate could merely return his stare. Her breath was starting to catch in her nostrils, and her stomach flipped.

But Jack merely nodded, and not to her.

* * *

Barely pausing on the threshold to examine the exorbitant surroundings, Kate propelled herself to a door and threw it open.

_Closet_.

She went to the next. _Safe_. Then _kitchen_. Then _anteroom_. The phone, she recognized, so she picked it up, furious.

"Front desk, madam."

"Where the _hell_ is the bathroom?"

"Do you need assistance, madam?"

"What?" Kate paused, then shook her head. "No! No, I just don't know where it _is_."

"A moment please, madam."

Kate breathed deep; tried to get the air to her brain. There was a ring of the doorbell. Kate looked towards the distraction, then pulled the phone away from her face, and dropped it on its cradle.

"This is ridiculous," she couldn't help muttering, as the slight woman from the hallway took her through doorways, until one opened to sparkling white tiles, and a deep, big tub. Kate thought she smelled bad at the sight of it.

"Would the madam enjoy a bath?"

Suddenly bashful, Kate bit her lip. She spared a pleading glance toward the steward.

"Could you?"

* * *

Kate doused herself in the warm, fragrant soapy water twenty minutes later. The stale sweat that came with sleeping in an airplane washed off her, as did the steady pulse of desire in her veins.

She was…she was getting too dependent on him—that much was clear. Kate had honestly _wanted_ him in those moments in the car and in the lobby, and it would be a lie to claim that she hadn't spent time replaying their sexual encounters in her head. It was dangerous, this relation, to actually enjoy being so intimate with him. Not mentally, she admonished quickly, but…but the physical pleasure of it all. The pure, undiluted satisfaction that Jack seemed to exhort from her _every—single—time_…well, it brought more than one shade of pink to her cheeks just to dwell on it.

* * *

The bath water cooled eventually, but by then, Kate had worked herself into a more furious frustration than before. The implication was different, of course—where before it was merely sexual, now it was its opposite, the pure spite at Jack and his familial rearing for making her feel so manipulated. _Well_, she reasoned to herself, _they hadn't been prepared to deal with _me. If she was honest with herself, she knew exactly how the evening could go. Jack could walk in at whatever hour pleased him, and with barely a touch, could coerce her into bed.

_Not tonight_, she vowed. Her plan was simple: the classic passive aggressive girlfriend tactic of being sleep before the significant other came home. Simple, yet effective. Well…she hoped. Jack wasn't typically in the practice of letting something as trivial as slumber get in the way of something he wanted…that much had been made almost painfully clear. A healthy flush started to make its way down her body, making Kate notice that she'd stopped walking about the bedroom.

Rolling it off her shoulders, Kate rifled through her luggage to find the most offensive sleepwear she could find, but was displeased to find nothing that would cover herself so completely. Reluctantly, she unzipped Jack's pack, pulling out a big pair of sweatpants and a thick, zippered sweatshirt. Everything was a bit too big on her, yes, but she held them on dutifully, slipping under each of the covers and turning every light off. She sweated a little (with the blankets, there were a lot of layers, even in monsoon season), but distracted herself by concocting vicious, terrible plans of how she could turn this situation against him. They became more and more ridiculous as the hours stretched on…surely Jack would be home…soon…

It shouldn't have startled her so much, to heard the heavy _click_ of an unlocked door, the tiny _creak_ as it swung open. Jack's footfalls against the floor were quiet, even with the muffling carpet beneath them.

Kate kept her eyes screwed shut, as she tried to control her breathing. For some reason, breathing always becomes harder when you're actually thinking about it, and Kate's experience was no exception. Her heart started to hammer against her throat, as she unconsciously strained her ears for his slightest movements. Jack…Jack was coming towards her. Through the dark, the definite sounds of his movements were heading in her direction. Kate held her breath for fear that it would betray her, as she heard fabric slip against itself as Jack crouched by the nightstand. For what seemed like a long time, he sat there, the heat of his gaze warming her cheeks, her pulse, and her breath. She felt like screaming.

But neither of them said anything. Instead, Jack moved away, louder now as he shed his clothes about the room. There was something that felt almost like relief when the mattress yielded to his weight, the sheets tightened against her chest as Jack tugged them towards him. There was a stiffness to his actions, that much was clear. Whether it was his slow exhale, or the way he fidgeted, trying to get comfortable… It was enough, and Kate celebrated a victory in her mind.

_Take that_, she wanted to taunt. _I don't need you at all!_

Kate was expecting to find sleep easily on the heels of such a win, but instead…each one of Jack's movement drew her attention, as did the varying tempo of his breathing. Remorse managed to eke itself into her conscience, and sadly…she found she wasn't surprised to find it there. Their backs to each other, Kate opened her eyes in the darkness, and had to bite her lip when the remorse shifted into a strange sort of disappointment. _What_, she berated her emotions quickly, trying to claim them before they could be fully explored. The night stretched on, and with each passing hour, Kate felt the impulse to turn towards him mounting. By the time the darkness had faded to grey, the shades of morning peeking their way past the heavy curtains, Kate was forcibly fighting them.

But…the sense of sunlight somehow grounded her; something in the sense that the night was over, and that she had survived, allowed her heart to slow down, and almost settle. Like a consolation prize for having abstained, sleep somehow claimed her for what felt like all of fifteen minutes.

And then Jack was rocking her shoulder brusquely to wake her up. When she jerked into consciousness, he withdrew just as quickly.

"Get up, we're late."

Kate groaned unintentionally, deep in her throat, as she rubbed at her tired eyes.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

Jack was already in the bathroom, and she heard the shot of water as he turned on the shower. Kate sighed. _Fine_. Rolling towards his side of the bed, she saw the clock beam its bright blue numbers: _6:18_.

Kate didn't have time to bemoan her sleepless night, as a discrete and pleasant ring came through the bedroom door. Aching joints held her weight as she maneuvered into the anteroom, where a steward was already making his way inside with a fresh tray of breakfast, and…

"_Coffee_," Kate said involuntarily, as she smelled it.

* * *

It turned out that Jack hadn't just woken her out of spite. Someone came to pick them up at 6:45, so they could make the long, bumpy drive into the heart of Senegal. If she hadn't been so tired and cranky, Kate would have enjoyed watching the scenery and periods of heavy rain outside the windows of the Jeep, but instead, her mind was mostly focused on the man sitting beside her. Jack was radiating frustration, his voice coming out in clipped, one-word statements. Kate was very carefully telling herself she didn't care.

They weren't alone, however. The man they were traveling with was the same from the lobby before, and he took up most of the conversation, describing to Jack in more medical terms what had happened to his patients while he was away.

When they pulled into a rainy Linguère some time before nine a.m., Kate's mood seemed to match Jack's. Every time she had thought the stranger's voice would lull her into drowsiness, a rock, or a tree, or a _gazelle_ would jump into their path, forcing their car to swerve. More than once, she had slammed into Jack, and her sorely exhausted muscles were starting to protest. The stranger abandoned them quickly after they made it under a thatched sort of awning, leaving Jack and Kate alone.

"Is there something you want to talk about, Kate?" he yelled over the rain. She riled at the sudden accusation in his voice.

"What, about how I have no free will? Yeah, let's talk about _that_, Jack. Let's talk about _that_."

The glare she gave him invited no response, though she questioned whether he would have challenged her anyway. He merely glowered, grabbing his backpack off the ground and heading inside the hovel they were standing in front of. Scowling as well, Kate followed him in.

It was a one-room sort of building, walls unpainted and windowless. A few dozen beds were set up, with people of varying states of medical care propped within them. Kate felt most of the anger she harbored dissipate almost immediately, as she watched Jack maneuver between the beds, checking on his patients. It was a side of him she hadn't been exposed to yet, and it was…well, it was interesting to see him suddenly so dedicated. He took temperatures and pulses himself, checking eyes for reaction to light, making notes where appropriate. Kate hadn't realized her ears had been filled with a dull, muting hum until she saw Jack look directly at her, though the glance was brief.

"What?" Kate muttered, unintelligently. Jack shook his head.

"Nothing." He turned back to the person he was examining, who was eagerly trying to convey something to him in thick, garbled speak. "Where does it hurt?" Jack was saying, loudly, trying to draw out the words. When the response was more incomprehensible words, Jack sighed, his gaze traveling again towards the door. He pointed to his own chest. "Here?" he asked, "Does it hurt _here_?"

A grin poked itself through Kate's mouth. _Ah_. He was looking for a translator. Kate dropped her own backpack against one of the tables, and sat at the chair behind it. She could help him, of course, maybe do something useful, but Kate preferred being obstinate when it came to Jack.

"I, I can't help you." Jack was enunciating, "We have to wait. For the, for the _trans-lay-tore_. N-no…_no parlay, Francay_."

Kate almost snorted into the book she had picked up and wasn't reading. A heavy sigh came from Jack's direction.

"You know, Kate, that's really not helping."

Kate glanced at him over the top of her book, and then shrugged nonchalantly. Jack turned back to his patient, pointing to the watch on his wrist. "We'll have to _wait_, until I can _understand_…yes?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the 'lost in translation' aspect was starting to get to her. Jack too. Well, if anything could be gathered by the way Jack was checking the doorway every few moments, then pacing back between his twenty-odd patients, each of which seemed to have something to tell him that could only be conveyed through complex French colloquialisms. Kate's foot was starting to bounce against the dirt floor, frustration filling her pores.

"_Non_," Jack was saying, _again_, "I'm…I'm _des-o-lay_, yes? We have to w-_wait_."

"_S'il vous plait, s'il vous plait_…" a young woman was moaning, cradling her stomach. Jack had got that much, but he was having trouble with the exact pain, with exactly where it was coming from. The woman was trying to explain, what it was like…but Jack could only shake his head, trying to assuage her without knowing what he was assuaging. "S'il vous plait…"

Kate couldn't sit still any longer.

"She says it's like a snake!" she interrupted, Kate's hand flying to her temple. "It's like a snake, coiling…coiling through her intestines."

Jack had jerked his head in her direction when she stood, but now his expression dismayed his skepticism. "How do you know?"

Shooting him a demeaning glare, Kate started towards the woman.

"Combien de temps le fait blesser?" she asked when she was within hearing range. "Comme le serpent."

The young woman didn't seem to be phased, merely moaning again that it had been two days.

Kate nodded, and didn't turn towards Jack as she started to translate. "She says it's been two days."

"How…?" Jack was saying, and with a flick of her eyes Kate saw him shake off his bemused expression. "Uh, can…can you ask her what she ate?"

"Avez-vous mangé quelque chose étrange? Nouveau? Putréfié?"

The young woman shook her head, and Kate mimicked it. "No, she says no."

* * *

The translator showed up about an hour after Kate revealed herself, but by then, Jack's follow ups were mostly done. He arranged for a surgery the next day, dictated some changes in medication, but then, with an almost unnoticed glance to Kate, asked the translator about lunch.

The woman smiled, an uneven, unused expression that highlighted the wrinkles in her face.

"It should be served soon," she evaded, but Jack only nodded, a pointed look between Kate and the door signaling that they should leave.

"Thanks, Danielle."

They had barely made it outside, before Jack was invading her personal space.

"So you want to tell me why you speak French?"

Kate stiffened. "_Why_?" she repeated.

"Yes _why_. At this point, I'm not sure anything would surprise me. So what is it, some French prison? A diplomat of some sort? Oh no, let me guess: an artist. True love."

Her pale, green eyes narrowed in a glare. "I don't deserve that from you, Jack."

Jack scoffed, hands on his hips as he looked around for a way out. People were mingling throughout the small village, keeping out of the rain. A few trucks marked the main attraction, distributing supplies. "You know, Kate," he started, saying her name like she was being unreasonable, "There's no reason you have to be so hostile about all this."

Kate balked, her hands tightening into unconscious little fists. "_There's no reason?_ Jack, you have me prisoner!" She expected that to sting him, but he just swung back towards her, contemptuous.

"You came to me, Kate!"

That hit her gut hard, and Kate's eyes obstinately shone as she glared at him. But Jack was making the few steps towards her, until she could hear his labored breathing, and feel the heat radiating from him cut through the humidity. "And remember, _you_ made the terms. Whatever I want you to be."

Kate had to look away, as something hard and cold lodged in her throat. That wasn't fair. _N…none of this_ was fair. "Why won't you let me go?" she whispered, and for a moment, she wasn't sure if Jack heard her. But the stiffness bled through the air between them, forcing Kate's attention. There was a glint to his eyes that she had never seen before, and it did worse than frighten her—it filled her mouth with infuriated bile. Jack's stare was hard and blank.

"Fine, then that's it, right? You're determined to hate me, and I'm determined to keep you here."

"You're disgusting."

There was a low, menacing silence.

"Oh, _I'm_ disgusting. You're the one who likes it Kate, who likes to be chased, pinned down, and excuse the vulgarity—but ravished."

"I hate you!"

"I know. I know you really want to think that, Kate."

"I do. Let me go."

A sick sort of grin graced his mouth. She wasn't scared—there was no violence to him now—but it still shook her to the core, and the act of swallowing was painful.

"I could run." Her threat was glaringly empty, and Jack's laugh echoed the sentiment.

"Yeah, sure, Kate, you do that. You go run into the jungle right now."

She wanted, so desperately, to do so. To just run. The impulses forced themselves up her spine, accompanied quickly by angry tears. There she was, poor Kate, forced to stand still. By a man. By _this_ man who she hated.

"Why do you—" she started, then turned away to fight her emotions. "Why am I still here?"

He didn't do anything right away, and for a moment, Kate didn't think he would say anything at all. But then slowly, Jack shrugged, with a carelessness that suggested there was merely something on his shoulder he wanted to dislodge.

* * *

They managed to avoid each other for the rest of the day. Not an easy feat, considering that the village was home to only a few hundred people. But it wasn't until much later that night, when the darkness was broken only by firelight, that Kate approached him.

The cold fury that had swept her veins took much longer to settle than she'd expected, but the crashing loneliness that came after was more than Kate could prepare for. It was more than anything she'd experienced in England—this was…this was no one speaking her native language, and curiously amazed stares that followed her everywhere. A few children conversed with her in French, but this mostly proved Kate's limitations with the language, rather than strengthen her understanding. When they offered to include her in a friendly game of soccer, she found herself turning them down gently before she had even recognized whether she actually wanted to play.

Would…would maintaining this wall between them really make their arrangement any easier? The quick answer was no, though it took so much longer for her to realize this, as any connotation felt like a defeat.

_So you're down, Katie._ She was standing out of the recesses of the firelight, staring at Jack's profile flicker with the flames. _That doesn't mean…that he won't…_ Kate shook her head, turning towards the ground, as she tried to furiously work out her thoughts. The day had been a miserable tirade, and it still didn't make sense to her—why Jack still had her with him.

But then, staring at the dirt…it came to her.

In the beginning, she'd been so wrapped up in Desmond that she hadn't been able to see straight. And it must have been that! Her cold rebuttal, her abject refusal to fall prey to Jack's charms, instead almost cloying for his second cousin's affections… A cool sort of relief washed down her spine, accompanied by a soft 'oh' of understanding. So she was a kind of game to him, then! Her denying him had turned him on, instilled some sick infatuation to determine why she would snub his ego so offensively. The thought brought a stray smile to her lips, and her shoulders were settled when she looked back towards the fire, and Jack.

She almost…she almost felt sorry for him. He was so confused about her, that now he was stuck with a girl who _still_ hated him. Before she knew what she was doing, Kate had started walking towards him.

"Hey," she said softly, when he turned sharply towards her. Kate was careful to keep warmth out of her tone, but tried to instill a sort of gentleness, as she took the seat besides him facing the flames. Jack didn't say anything, but stared at her hard while she sat. For a long time, silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the soft crackle of dry grass and wood aflame. Finally…

"I'm not a monster, Kate."

Air swept inside her lungs on a sharp inhale, but she didn't turn away from the fire. "I know," she admitted quietly. Jack nodded, but neither made a move towards the other, and they both turned back to watch the fire burn into embers.

Slowly, she became aware of it—they were sitting close enough, where she could actually sense his blood quickening. A slow tilt in her direction had her abdomen churning, every touch of breath drew her attention.

Jack stood eventually. A stiff hand was offered to her, and Kate didn't need to look towards him to know what sort of expression marked his gaze. Without taking it, Kate stood, making sure she was standing still before connecting their gazes. Hers was defiantly aware, thinly protecting the vulnerable desire she felt. Jack stepped towards her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed their bodies close enough together so she could _feel_ how much he wanted her.

The memory became real in an instant, as Kate felt her blood heat under her skin, the warmth in her core feeling electric. She leaned into him as the muscles in her neck relaxed, the soft exhale coming out on a moan.

Kate wasn't sure how they made it back to their hut, but she gave in: once, powerfully, until sleep almost as blissful claimed them both.

* * *

**end notes:**Gah, I'm sorry about this. Most of you guys mentioned that you would prefer this fic to get smuttier, and I heard you…but this chapter was getting _way_too long as it was. Your prayers, I promise, will be answered in the next part. And uh, it's really freakin' good. And...multiple? XD Oh! Someone also mentioned that my sex scenes are a little hard to understand. If anyone has any suggestions on cleaning them up, I'll offer drabble smut (xxCrazyxChickxx, don't think I've forgotten yours. Trust me, it's coming!) And as always, if you have the time…reviews really do make my day :)


	8. tired of dancing on a pot of goldflaked

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part eight: tired of dancing on a pot of gold-flaked paint)  
****by:**AliLamba  
**rated: ****M**. Oh, this is M. This is perhaps my favorite M.  
**notes: **Bah. Some of you requested more Africa, and this chapter was short anyway, so I added it in. Well, "short." Can more than 4,500 words ever be considered "short"? Also, I'm nominally sure that Tiffie gave this the 'stamp of approval' through deferment ;) Let me know if I was wrong.

**Clean version here:** alilamba-writes (dot) livejournal (dot) com (forward slash) 6082 (dot) html

* * *

Jack's surgery the next day was a long one, so he left Kate while she was still drowsily coming to, dotting slow kisses over her shoulders, running a hand down her torso so she knew what to miss. Kate was very quick to bite her lip, protesting the awareness of him, but if Jack's chuckle as he left the hut was any indication, he wasn't sold on her performance.

Strangely, as soon as he was gone, Kate felt more awake. Her eyes blinked open quickly, though the sun was still rising—its shades of pinks and orange were brilliant against the clouds that had gathered against the horizon peeked past the door flap. Kate sat up, her hair unknowably tangled, and watched it for awhile, slowly in awe of where she was.

_Africa, Katie. You're in _Africa.

* * *

Though she didn't see Jack, Kate was decidedly chipper that morning and into the afternoon. Some of the women took to her at breakfast, and together they managed a trip into the busier sections of Linguère, where Kate treated everyone to what counted as a salon visit. Everyone, even Kate, could laugh at how her hair just wouldn't hold into the tight weaves of the other women. She helped carry water back to the compound where Doctors Without Borders was stationed, the huge four gallon jugs perched dangerously on her shoulders, weighing her down. When they made it back, and Kate helped dole out lunch, she actually participated in a game of soccer. Her skills were sorely lacking, and by the end, Kate was deadly amused that the 14-year-old boys were trying to pawn her off on each others teams.

Everything amazed her here. The trees were fantastic to climb, the tall grass populated with animals and insects she'd never seen before. And the rain—it was actually _heavy_, the individual drops, and the way they soaked her was as amazing as it made her want to shower.

Jack made it back late in the afternoon, and he found her sitting by herself on a rock, staring over the plains during a sporadic lull in the rain. He must've said her name, because she turned when he was barely in shouting distance. With a distinct grin, he nodded towards their hut.

* * *

Jack held the tarp aside, so that Kate could pass in before him. Automatically, she went to the bed and laid down. Jack joined her, an escaped sigh betraying how tired he was, and for awhile they just laid there like that, both on their backs, Kate staring at the ceiling while Jack's eyes were closed. Kate kept making furtive glances towards him, waiting for him to turn and undress her. But he didn't, just stayed like that, until Kate thought he was falling asleep. She turned on her side to face him, keeping her expression as blank as she knew how.

After a moment, he opened one eye to glance at her. "Hmm," he murmured, in question.

"Aren't you going to undress me?"

Jack grinned, his eyes again closed. "Hey now, who said I brought you to Africa just to use your body."

Kate rolled her eyes, though a sense of amusement was crawling into the twist of her lips. "You did, I think."

"I did?" On another strong exhale, he turned to her. "Well then, you should be naked by now."

Kate felt awkward. How to say exactly…I _want_ to be naked, when she knew she shouldn't? She didn't feel exactly sexual…Jack had always somehow sparked that within her. So she turned away from him, onto her side. "I don't want to."

He took the bait, sidling towards her until his hand snaked over her side, her shirt rolling up as his forearm grazed it. "Of course you don't, Kate."

* * *

Jack's apartment, back in LA, should have been less surprising. It was a true bachelor pad: big bed, leather couches, all neat lines and sparsely decorated. And everything was clean, too, almost like no one lived there. Jack was sure to settle her in there almost as quickly as possible, coercing her clothes off on the couch barely five minutes after their first getting inside the door.

They went out a lot—restaurants, movies, sometimes the theater. Perhaps most unexpected was that he introduced her to his friends, usually with a simple "This is Kate." Marc was the most gregarious, and it was something of an amusement to let him rattle off some lurid story about Jack, while Jack merely grinned obligingly and rubbed Kate's lower back.

She was also learning more about Jack's history with women. Mostly, this came in the form of distasteful glares that would follow her around when on Jack's arm, some bordering on hateful. A few times, she'd been followed into restrooms, though most of the encounters were regretful, rather than violent.

"How did you do it?" one woman asked: blonde, tall, and beautiful, when Kate was washing her hands.

"Excuse me?" She'd tried to laugh it off, like she didn't know what the woman was talking about.

"_Jack_," the blonde had sighed the name, and then proceeded to ignore Kate. "We were together only one night, about a year ago… He had to go to Antarctica the next day… I told him to call me when he got back, but I never got it." The woman had stopped fixing her eyelashes, and leaned back away from the mirror, a wistful smile on her face. "I tell you, if he called five years from now, I'd still be at his door in an instant, wearing nothing but a smile."

Kate had rolled her eyes.

But mostly, their sort of life together revolved around Jack's work. Kate had wondered whether she would be left alone most of the day, but Jack mostly worked from home, in the small office he had in his apartment. Maybe an hour or two a day he spent actually in a board meeting or doing rounds, and of course there were days of seven hour surgeries, but for the most part, it was a lot of Jack on the phone or on his computer giving occasional glances at Kate.

It struck her as odd how quickly she got used to it.

As Jack had promised, her wardrobe was filled quickly, with classic, sometimes conservative pieces that would never go out of style.

Her passport, too, was thoroughly filled. Jack took her with him on every business trip: Chicago, San Francisco, New York City…even Rome, Paris, Hong Kong and Kyoto. Rio, was perhaps her favorite…they'd had a beach literally to themselves, and very early one morning, when neither could sleep after a fairly rousing tussle, Jack had convinced her to slip into the waves wearing nothing. It was a liberating experience, and Kate had felt a blush the entire day following.

Jack, it turned out, was overwhelmingly good at his job. Kate proved herself an asset as well, being charming when she could, but Jack had inherited a good sense of business. He could be swift and decisive, or encouraging and lenient at the correct whim. At every hospital he visited, he was welcomed with open arms, and usually more than one coffee cake, as if it were an event people marked on their calendars.

For over two months, they established the routine, something which Kate was shocked to realize. Some weeks it felt like all they were doing was getting over jetlag, but it was still…well, she had expected it all to have been more of an adjustment.

* * *

Jack's surgery was running late, so Kate packed his suitcase and met him at the hospital with the chauffeur. Their chartered plane to Houston was still stuck taxiing for hours amid an L.A. rainstorm, so by the time they landed in Texas, Jack had to run to their hospital almost immediately after seeing Kate to the front of the hotel. Kate checked them in, and saw their baggage up to the suite. The phone rang before she could take off her shoes.

"Hello?" she asked, her voice polite.

"Hello, is this… Well, this is Mrs. DeLuise—Jessica? I believe me and my husband are expecting you tonight?"

Kate relaxed, smiling a little at the woman's friendly accent. "Mmm," she murmured in assent, "Yes, we're sorry to be so late. Los Angeles 'winters' are tough on the airline industry."

The woman laughed, charmed, making Kate smile in kind. They had plans to meet up that evening, had for awhile. Kate was still getting used to the 'double date' format, so the fact that she had the woman laughing put her a little at ease. "Well," Mrs. DeLuise started, "Poor David is stuck at work, as I'm sure Jack is, so it's up to us women to set the final details."

A wave of impishness struck Kate, and she almost laughed when they arranged a vegan menu ("Oh, yeah, Jack's been trying to lead a healthier lifestyle for a, uh, for awhile now…") for a few hours hence. They chatted sweetly for awhile, and then started working their way off the phone.

"Well it looks like that's all set!" Mrs. DeLuise said at last, and Kate smiled, "I look very forward to meeting you, Mrs. Shephard!"

Kate froze, for a moment completely at a loss. "Oh—" she started immediately, "Oh, no, me and Jack aren't—"

But Jessica DeLuise had already hung up. Kate didn't move for awhile, her mind running at the implications of the woman's assumptions. But then, a grin broke her complexion. What harm could it really do? The woman was wrong, but it certainly didn't really hurt anyone to let one little whim pass by. Surely, she could clear everything up during a quiet moment later that night.

But later that night, Jack had only been able to say so much as "This is Kate," before Mrs. DeLuise was rushing forward, hands outstretched.

"Oh, but I've already spoken to your lovely wife on the phone, Dr. Shephard! Oh, do come in dear. Is this your first visit to Houston?"

A quick glance to Jack showed her his frown, but Kate made no effort to mollify him as she allowed the other woman to sweep her into the sitting room for introductory glasses of wine. The amusement only doubled as Mrs. DeLuise spent a good five minutes bemoaning the permissiveness of young couples over dinner. "It's just…un-Godly," she voiced dramatically, obviously scandalized, "How people today will _live_ together without getting married? It's just immoral, don't you think, Jack?"

"Oh, yes. It's, uh, it's terrible." Kate felt the impulse to giggle, but Jack's face was blank. If he was trying to deter this topic of discussion, he failed.

"How long have you two been married?" Mrs. DeLuise asked sweetly.

Jack took a slow sip of his ice water, his gaze stuck on the glass even after he had replaced it on the table. "Not very long," he evaded.

"I knew it." The older woman turned to her husband. "Didn't I tell you, David? I said, as soon as you two were through the door: that's the honeymoon glow, so much in love."

Kate _choked_ on the giggle, the amusement dying half-way up her throat, and curling into a little ball of misery. It was Jack's turn to look at her sardonically.

After dinner, it looked like Jack wanted Kate's attention, but Mrs. DeLuise whisked her quickly off into the sitting room once more, allowing for the two men to discuss some sort of business venture. Kate was gearing up to let the woman down slowly, but Mrs. DeLuise cut her off, demanding to know all the intimate details of the wedding.

Suffering an inward sigh, Kate started slow, but then the sardonic amusement turned into a cheeky sort of pleasure, and she found herself embellishing even the smallest details. Three hundred guests in the oldest cathedral in London, a fifteen foot train, orchids flown in from Africa, monk-made candles everywhere, and with an added flourish, Kate added Nikki as bridesmaid.

"_No_, really?" Mrs. DeLuise was clearly impressed. "Nikki Shephard, the supermodel? But she's so famous!"

Kate wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or gag, but she didn't have to choose. The door opened, allowing for the passage of "both" husbands.

"Oh, Jack, your wife has just been telling me all about your lovely wedding. Orchids flown in from Africa, and a supermodel for a bridesmaid! It must have been so magical."

Jack's eyes rose, and he sent Kate a very deliberate look. "Oh—yes—it was, uh…beyond imagination."

Her reaction was laughter after all. While they left shortly after, Kate had a ridiculously amused grin on her face the whole way back to the hotel. Jack didn't say anything in the taxi, but when they got just inside the hotel room door…

"So you want to tell me what the hell that was all about?"

Kate looked up from where she was removing her shoes. Jack was still standing by the door, still in his suit, hands stuffed resolutely in the pockets of his slacks. She didn't have to ask what he was referring to, and a refreshed grin quirked the corners of her lips.

"I didn't tell her we were married. She assumed it."

Jack snorted. "Oh, and you just conveniently forgot to tell her we weren't." When she didn't say anything, Jack continued. "And you just couldn't stop yourself from describing a big, fancy wedding."

It felt like he was trying to get a rise out of her, and Kate recognized it as she went back to the other shoe. So she shrugged, keeping the smile in place. "She asked, alright? And what was I supposed to tell her? She did love the part about Nikki, though."

"And you loved making it up." This time, the smile dipped a little from her face, and Kate looked up at him, gauging his temper. Jack's stare was intense, and he started towards her, invading the personal space in front of the chair she was sitting in. "And don't think I haven't noticed that you've started signing hotel checks with my name."

Kate glared up at him, and despite her intentions, she felt the spite crawl up her throat. "Then you should reserve the rooms in both our names, as you're so particular about who uses yours."

His light brown eyes narrowed. "Just don't get any ideas."

For a moment, Kate didn't move. And then she stood, and violently pushed him back a foot. "I can't believe you said that! Do you really think, _Jack_, that after everything, I'd _ever_ want to marry you? My God, you're full of yourself! I would rather _die_ than marry into your family!"

Jack's jaw clenched. "Then what the hell are you still doing here?"

"At least I'm not married to you," Kate deflected, her voice low and angry. "You're not good enough to marry me."

Jack walked away, hollow, cruel laughter following in his wake. "Not _good enough_? Kate, need I remind you that your one objective in crashing our party was to ensnare my cousin! If it had worked, you'd have married Desmond without asking twice."

Kate was too angry to explain now. "No, I wouldn't," she threatened, "Because I would have found out what a bunch of assholes you all are!" And, picking up her shoes, she threw them at him.

Jack ducked in time, but all sense of amusement fell from his face. With menacing steps, he quickly made his way towards her. Sensing the danger, Kate tried to make a run to the bathroom, but Jack caught her halfway and slammed them both against the wall. "So you're too good for me?" he muttered, and Kate flailed against him, trying desperately to break free. Jack grabbed her wrists—one in each hand—and pinned them above her head.

"Yes, I damn well…_am!_" she said breathlessly, and tried to punch him with her knee, but her thighs only caught against the tightness of her skirt.

"But you're not too good to take what I give you. Because I'm rich—that's why you're here. And that's why you'll do whatever the hell I want. Won't you?" Kate thrust violently against his hold, but Jack dragged her wrists together and held them with one hand. His hand traveled down the length of her torso, dragging against all of her curves, and his intent became obvious. Kate found herself no longer breathing, a rush of heat passing underneath his fingers that she _really_ knew she shouldn't want. But before she could think, his other hand was ripping up her skirt. "_Won't you?_"

"No!" she tried to yell in protest, but it hitched on her breath; only made Jack laugh softly. She tried to knee him again, but his hand was busy. Kate suddenly felt it—his erection against her thigh, and she gasped, forcing her limbs to struggle harder now than ever. But that only sought to encourage his efforts, and soon, inevitably, passion was bleeding through her veins like poison. Her protests became weak, until she was straining against his hold, pressing her torso against his and inching her thighs up his waist. Jack's fingers dug against her panties, his insistent motions finding her nub quickly and expertly, until moans, low and heady and breathless were tumbling from her lungs. Kate's head fell back with the force of them, as she pressed her pelvis into his touch. It was all he needed from her, and Jack grabbed her waist, ripping the lace of her expensive lingerie as he quickly undid his belt. Kate felt the spasms deep within her core, felt them increasing, the muscles of her inner thighs clenching and unclenching. And it was with a very desperate need that she accepted his thrust inside her.

From then on, Kate took great care not to be mistaken for Jack's wife.

They went back to L.A. the following day, and resumed the life that was considered normal. But a little while later, Jack had to leave her alone for a week to attend some family social event in Scotland.

Alone in the city, Kate expected to have a wonderful time, going as far as to make herself an itinerary (and conveniently leave it around the apartment): some museum and art gallery visits, some long hikes along the beach, plans to cook for herself for a change. Kate carried out her program dutifully for the first few days—took in a few photography shows, a hike and a bike ride…but there was something…something about coming home at night to an empty apartment, cooking for two and then eating for one over the stove…that didn't captivate her like she thought it would. She felt undeniably restless most times. Her feet would too often take her to the window, and she would stare at the blinking, colored lights of the city and the sky for sometimes half an hour before noticing that she was there.

It took her too long to realize that she was lonely.

The realization floored her. As much as she could protest it, Kate was actually starting to miss Jack. The night she came to this conclusion, Kate had to sit down, tried to reign in the thoughts that were suddenly bursting forth in her mind. As much as she tried to deny it, though…Kate had somehow gotten used to Jack's presence, having him always around. She rationalized that this is what marriage must be like—that your life becomes a sort of balance with theirs. Disgusting, and a blow to her pride, yes…

But she and Jack weren't married. She was only his mistress; they'd _both _made that clear from the start. And that was just it, she found herself reminding—she didn't _want_ their dynamic to change. Unless, of course, it was Jack dismissing her entirely.

And yet, somehow…over the last nearly three months…Kate had found herself strangely dependant on him, to where she was quickly losing her individual identity. This thought riled her, ground her thoughts back to her brain.

_It's just sex_, she resolved. _You just got used to having it all the time_.

Without turning off all the lights, Kate went to bed, determined more than ever to enjoy herself at Jack and his family's expense.

The next day, Kate rented a camera. The feel of it was good in her hands, reminded her fingers of what they used to love to hold. It was a beautiful feeling, and it brought her back to grad school, to Iowa and hope and freedom. She walked the piers and city streets, snapping nearly a dozen rolls of film. Keeping herself out of the apartment seemed to help her sanity, so she booked time at a small, local dark room, and spent a whole day printing and processing, getting to know a few of the shopkeepers over the long hours. A few of the prints turned out well—almost better than well—especially a nice string of photos of an older woman feeding some pigeons near the beach. The other printers in the studio _ooh_-ed over them pleasantly, and a modest but emboldened Kate actually felt confident in buying some postage. She mailed the prints to a well-known photo journal she'd always admired, and who had posted a few of her prints in the past, thinking that she'd just go down the list if her photo essay was turned down.

Time with this activity was more manageable, though Kate couldn't deny that she was keeping track of the days. The evening before Jack was to return, he called the apartment. Kate was home, but, expecting that it would be him, let it go to the answering machine. And though she didn't want to, Kate found herself listening from the next room. It was a simple message—just the time and gate of his arrival—but his sounded tired, almost drained, and the clipped tone of his voice pulled at something in her chest. There was a point, at the end, where he paused, before adding finally:

"It would be nice to be met."

But Kate didn't want to meet him, and she consciously and deliberately made sure she was out when he was due to return. She returned the camera, got coffee, went shopping for more clothes she didn't need, and then casually strode back into the apartment late in the afternoon.

Jack looked up coldly when she came in, and watched her move about the apartment, consciously not looking at him, seeming to wait for her to speak. When she didn't, he did, and his voice was brusque. "And where have you been?"

Kate felt her spine stiffen a little at the threat there, but forcibly calmed herself. "Oh, at a gallery," she lied, her voice pleasantly nonchalant as she went to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a vodka tonic. "It was hot today," she mused. That part was true, and she held the cold glass against her forehead, letting her eyelids fall shut. "Did you have a good trip?"

"Well, thank you for asking," Jack replied, his voice heavy with an irony that made Kate's eyes open, and stare at him blankly. "I take it by your warm reception that you didn't exactly miss me."

"That's right," she didn't pause to say. "I didn't."

Jack frowned, and then opened his mouth as if he was going to say something biting, but at the last moment seemed to think better of it. Shrugging gruffly, he strode into his office and sat behind a desk littered with paper that hadn't been there over the previous week. Kate noticed, with a small sort of thrill, that the safe was open. It was where he kept her passport, locked away with a combination he kept in his head. Kate learned this from tireless searching.

Watching him idly through the doorway, Kate finished her drink, then went back through the bedroom to shower and change. She thought that cool water might taper off the heat she felt through her body, but it didn't, and so still in a bathrobe, she went back into the living room and fixed herself another drink.

Jack was on the phone when she entered, but the click of the receiver was quickly following. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jack stretch, pulling his arms over his head, and rolling his neck.

"Are you any good at massage?"

She was surprised to hear his voice, but she heard him. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "I've never tried."

He gave her a side-long look, but nodded his head away from her. "Well, come and try now." Kate bit the inside of her cheek, but Jack stood and headed inside the bedroom. She followed, for lack of impulse to do anything else, seeing him loosen his tie and remove his shirt, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He looked tired, Kate noticed. She left her half-finished drink on the dresser, and crawled over the bed to kneel behind him, cold hands from the cold drink resting lightly on his shoulders, before she hesitantly started to knead the muscles there. Kate didn't know if what she was doing was any good, but Jack's eyes closed, and his head drooped forward.

"Why are you so tired?" she found herself asking, quietly. "Is it the jet-lag?"

"That, and the time difference, I guess."

Kate fell silent for a moment, moving her hands to his neck. "Was your family okay?"

"Yes, fine."

She didn't really consider this, but said off-handedly, "You should go back there more often. I'm sure they all miss you."

His head was turned just such that Kate saw him grin a little wryly, and his eyes open. "Claire and Nikki are coming here soon."

She couldn't stop the reaction, and her hands stilled. "_Why?_"

"Doing some shopping, I think."

Kate snorted. "As if Nikki can do anything else."

Jack's grin bloomed a little more, but he shrugged. "You know, you should give Nikki a break. She has a lot of friends over here, who like her well enough."

"I wonder why…" she trailed off, rhetorically.

Jack chuckled at her implication, and turned a little, taking hold of one of her hands and kissing it gently. "She'll only be here for a week or so."

Kate froze. "_Here_? In this apartment? Oh no. No. If she's coming here, then I'm leaving. I will _not_ be sharing a room with that—that skyscraper of a woman."

Jack grinned teasingly. "Hey, just because you're jealous of her—"

"I am _not_ jealous of Nikki," Kate asserted, firmly. "I just can't stand her. She's just as stuck up and arrogant as the man she married—and _you_."

The smile that had played on Jack's face now fell, but Kate didn't notice until he tugged at her hand, and heard the coldness in his voice. "I though you were supposed to be giving me a massage."

But Kate was too riled to care, and she wrenched her hand away. "If you want a massage, you can go to a masseuse. I'm not a—"

But before she could finish, an annoyed, strangled sound came from the back of Jack's throat, and he dragged her with him to the bed. "Whatever I want you to be, remember?" His voice was 

almost a snarl, and Kate recoiled instantly. Jack's hand slipped under her chin, and angled it towards him. With a glance to her eyes, Jack dipped his head to kiss her.

Whenever he'd tried in the past, Kate had jerked away, to where he'd given up trying. But this time, when she fought against him, he merely laughed—a short sort of cruel laugh—and forced the kiss upon her. Kate gasped against his warm, pliant mouth, and then bit his lip—hard.

Jack pulled back immediately, a shout of pain and outrage rolling from his throat.

"You little bitch," he gasped, amazed, and it shocked and infuriated her to hear it. And then suddenly, they were fighting, rolling over the bed clawing at each other, Jack trying to overpower her and Kate resisting in any way that she could.

Jack thrust a hand in her hair and tried to kiss her again, but Kate dug her nails into his chest painfully, and he let go. In her moment of triumph, Kate threw herself off the bed, but she'd only made it a step before Jack had the back of her bathrobe in his fist. Kate swung around, and managed to connect her fist with his chin, but it hurt her more than him, and he merely laughed, dragging her beneath him again. A cry of outrage, and Kate managed to buck her knees into his gut, once again scrambling to get off the bed. But the already loosened robe was now tangling, slipping from her shoulders and dropping down her chest, and she stumbled in it even as it fell off her completely. With an athletic bound, Jack leapt from the bed in chase, throwing her against his body before she had a chance to fall, pinning her arms to her sides.

Panting heavily, she tried to squirm furiously, but his grip was too tight. She was too hot—the beads of perspiration already dotting her flushed, raw skin. Jack's breath, too, was heavy, and he slipped a hand behind her waist, tilting them so she could feel their bare chests slide together. A thin sheen of sweat slicked their nipples into peaks, as she felt every small hair on his chest, each muscle in the arm he had around her back.

Kate let her head fall back, as a low, gratified moan tumbled from her throat. And then, she was fumbling madly at his belt, hands awkward in their eagerness, ripping his pants down his thighs as if her life depended on feeling the rest of him.

Jack hardly had time to kick them off before he carried them to the bed, dropping her in the same movement that pulled himself over her. Her chin tilted, drawing her chest into the air, and his mouth sucked a nipple, harshly, as he dropped a hand against her sex. Hot wetness spilled against his palm instantly, unleashing a thick moan of pleasure. Jack barely had to hold his cock to ready himself, and in one, careful thrust he took her, unrelenting and furious as he drove inside her, the momentum of everything dragging her over the edge, until her mouth cried out underneath his own, gasping spasms of prolonged pleasure rippling their muscles.

And afterwards, as Jack lay beside her in total exhaustion, Kate knew that this had been the best time of all. Their physical violence had been a sick sort of foreplay, which had morphed too easily into what was inevitable from all their anger and defiance. His anger, when she had walked in and ignored him, and her defiance, when he had tried to kiss her. What had resulted was the best sex Kate had ever known.

Jack stirred, his breathing back to a pace Kate was familiar with. Perching his head on his hand, Jack let his other roam up the length of her stomach, until his fingers were circling her breast territorially.

"Now, tell me you didn't miss me."

Kate grinned, lopsidedly, but didn't open her eyes. "Go to hell," she retorted, making him chuckle. Jack dropped a kiss against her nipple, and then tugged her against the curve of his body. Slowly, his breathing started to mature, and Kate recognized that he was falling asleep.

For awhile, Kate lay there like that, feeling the hard, hot length of his body familiar against hers, as she tried to savor the lasting moments of their coupling. Not for the first time, she wondered if it was exactly their shared animosity that made it all so pleasurable. Kate had never really known love, but couldn't imagine that it worth anything, when compared the hatred she shared with Jack.

She felt herself flushing all over again, but strangely, it wouldn't abate even after she doused the memories with cold water. Carefully, Kate slid from under Jack's arm and to the floor, putting on her discarded robe before making her way into the living room. She fixed herself another drink, almost all ice, and drank it down quickly, holding the condensation-coated glass to her face afterwards. For awhile, she let herself stand like that in the living room, until her eyes started to droop despite the sky being barely dark. A nap sounded tempting enough, so Kate started back towards the bedroom…before she froze, mid-step, while passing Jack's office.

He had left the safe open.

* * *

**end notes: **Ooooo, maybe? Anyway, what a DOOZIE of last night's episode! GUH JACK YOU'RE SO HOT. And "boon" to Jater's is certainly correct. I don't know about you guys...but I've, uh...I've stopped caring at all about any sort of "Jacket"/"Skate" threat. Jate is just so freakin' endgame...it makes me almost feel bad for them. Almost. History is what it is though. And whoever said Jate wouldn't be hot. Anyway, leave a review if you have the time. I'm a little uh...I'm a little in sheer disbelief that this is going to pass the 100-review mark. Uh, you guys should know that it really doesn't have to - you've made me feel pink enough already.


	9. you turned white like a saint

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part nine: you turned white like a saint)  
****by:** AliLamba  
**rated:** R, but no clean version.  
**notes: **Oh, I got it back! I know that reading this now, you won't know anything that's going on, but for a long, _long_ time, I'd sort of had too many ideas about this fic to really manage. A few side-plots have needed to be axed, but, maybe they'll work themselves into later fiction. I'm back on track, and this fic has a very definite through line now, so, yes. Very pleased. Roughly estimating 12 chapters now, but I'm not sure. The eleventh chapter is loooooong.

Sue: I went back and fixed the first smex scene in the last chapter. I was actually completely with your opinion when I wrote it, and in revision it's a little less "cagey" now. Yes, pun intended I'm horrible.

* * *

Kate forgot to breathe. The safe was just sitting there, its heavy metal door half-open like a taunt. She bit her lip, hard, and gave one last glance to the open bedroom door.

Leaving her drink on Jack's desk, Kate settled in front of the metal chest, her hands carefully easing open the door so it wouldn'tf squeak. Hands barely restrained in excitement, she dipped inside, pushing aside large stacks of money, official-looking business documents and banking statements. She found her passport quickly enough, and an unconscious smile broke out when she saw the familiar blue booklet. Pulling it towards her, she felt her heart racing.

But something else was nudged behind it, and it fell to the floor once she dislodged her passport. She held her breath and screwed her eyes shut as it made a noise, and waited to hear anything else from the next room. When nothing came, not one adjustment to bed sheets, Kate picked the large envelope up. It was standard brown, with a string clasp on the back. And when she flipped it over…

"_NEVER SHOW TO CLAIRE_."

She read it another three times, just that simple line. _What in the world…?_ She knew the Humes must have their sordid little secrets, but Claire…she had assumed that Claire was so pure; what could she ever get involved in?

Kate's hand danced on the clasp, her fingers toying with the simple string anxiously, her teeth catching the flesh of her cheek. _Surely, just one little peek…_

There was a groan from the next room. And then the distinct sounds of Jack rolling over. Katfe panicked. In one hand, she held her passport, and in the other… Her curiosity was killing her, baiting her—the string might as well held a carrot. But Jack moved again from the other room. Kate didn't have a lot of time…

In a split second, she slipped her passport back inside the safe. Surely, if Jack noticed that missing, he'd check through the rest. But as consolation, Kate grabbed an extra manila folder titled "_Personal_" and a thick stack of letters (_Love letters?_), faded and worn, tied meticulously with fancy twine. Quickly, she pushed the door back into its original position and fled from the room.

_Her drink!_

Kate sucked in a breath and flew back to the desk, grabbing the glass and wiping the water mark with the sleeve of her robe. Jack was now definitely rousing, so Kate practically skipped into the kitchen, shoving all the documents into the small drawer next to the stove, under the heavy operation manuals no one read.

Her heart racing, sweat beading over her brow, Kate danced as quietly as possible through the bedroom and into the bathroom, thrusting the handles on full-hilt to run a bath, as if that was her only reason for being out of bed in the first place. The plumbing in Jack's building being what it was, she only had to wait another few minutes before it had risen to a comfortable level, though she spent the time while it was filling adding her favorite soaps and scented oils. She had barely stepped in and adjusted her weight, when the bathroom door opened and Jack stepped inside.

He looked groggy, but decidedly…happy…and the impression of it brought a bemused look to her face. Not appreciating the way he was looking at her, Kate closed her eyes and sunk herself lower beneath the bubbles, only hearing it when Jack showered. He wasn't much for long ones, so he came out quickly enough.

"Want your back scrubbed?" he asked, while toweling off.

Kate rolled her eyes beneath her eyelids. "_No_," she retorted. Jack chuckled.

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't. Otherwise I'll never get any work done." Kate felt her stomach flip anyway, though she forced her limbs to stay still even as Jack's presence leaned over her, his hands sweeping aside the bubbles to find her nipples, warm, pink and tantalizing, peeping through the foam. "God, that's so damn sexy," he murmured, dropping a kiss on one, then the other. Kate felt herself responding, so she pulled herself underneath the water, opening her eyes to give him a reproachful glare. Chuckling all over again, he straightened.

"You have bubbles on your nose," she couldn't help but tell him.

Jack grinned and wiped them off, childishly _plonk_ing the suds on her nose before turning from the room. Though she absently wiped the foam from her face, her ears were trained on Jack's movements as he went about dressing and moving towards his office. Kate felt her breath speed up, and her skin flush with heat despite the already hot water. The effect was more than uncomfortable, so Kate stood and stepped out of the bath, letting the water run out while she toweled quickly and changed for dinner. Everything was still unpleasantly warm, so she found her drink and drank it all down, crunching the last few half-melted ice cubes between her teeth. Even so, she still felt hot.

Kate put up her damp hair and made up her mind, taking her glass with her to refill it in the next room. Jack was already in his office, and she knew that he'd seen the open safe, so she carefully avoided looking at it while she walked into the kitchen. Jack's eyes touched her back as he watched her, but he didn't move until Kate was drinking down another full glass of ice water.

"You okay?" he asked, not necessarily casually.

Kate finished half the glass, and held the cooled glass to her forehead, rolling it back and forth across her brow. "I'm fine," she dismissed, her eyes closed. "It was just hot today." The silence that followed proved he was frowning, but Kate didn't turn or open her eyes.

"Maybe we should stay in tonight," he said at last, and Kate shrugged in off-handed consent. Only then did she turn towards him, and notice the safe was closed.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Jack grinned like something immature had entered his mind, but he merely shrugged. "Yeah, but the fridge is pretty stocked. Looks like you didn't eat out much while I was gone."

Kate stubbornly didn't give in to the implication. "I just don't like eating out alone. Or with you, but I suppose you don't give me a choice."

That earned an eye-roll from Jack, but he grinned. "Here I was thinking that you'd be out all week, looking for a new meal-ticket."

Kate frowned at him, but then turned away to refill her glass with ice. "I don't want to be kept," she said, almost wistfully, "I want to be as free as any other woman. Have a job, some independence…"

"Your job," he reminded her, "is to keep me happy."

Kate shrugged and turned back to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, but, any woman could do that."

She took a long sip of her refreshed ice water, so Kate missed the way Jack's lips twisted wryly. "No," she almost didn't hear him say, "not any woman."

Kate frowned in concentration. "But why me?"

He stood from his desk, and started walking towards her. Jack looked good tonight: black slacks and a crisp shirt, like he had put effort into it. Kate, she realized slowly, had also taken care to look nice. It was one of her favorites: a dark purple dress, with a fitted bodice, belted, that flowed into a pleated skirt. It had always suited her, and though it was early-November, the weather seemed appropriate for the sleeveless choice. But she didn't need to have added perfume to her wrists. Kate felt her insides go cold.

Jack stepped over her, anchoring his weight above her torso with his hands on the counter. Though the position was intimate, it was filled with familiarity, and Jack's expression was more bemused than turned-on. "You really don't know, do you?"

Kate's frown deepened, puzzlement flooding her brain. _Know what?_ "So tell me," she clipped, not wanting to be made to feel like an idiot.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if he would. But in the next he was merely kissing her cheek quickly and heading back towards the front door, grabbing his jacket from the couch on his way. "Because you hate me, of course. And because it amuses me to make you do what you so obviously don't want to."

This time, he earned an eye-roll from Kate, though the effect was much more malicious. "I thought it was because I so obviously preferred Desmond." When he just shrugged, unaffected, Kate felt herself digging deeper despite herself. "If he had made the same offer you did," she couldn't help but taunt, "I wouldn't have even hesitated."

"Tsk tsk," Jack said, reproachfully, though there was a coldness to his voice as he grabbed Kate's purse and Jacket, and held the apartment door open for her. "Now who just said they wanted to be all independent."

Kate held her chin up as she strode past him and grabbed her things, adding extra relish to stabbing the elevator 'down' button. "Independence from _you_, yes. I'm sure not all men are so odious. When are you letting me go, again?"

He slid up next to her silently, and his voice was quiet when he spoke. "When I grow tired of you, like you agreed."

Kate didn't glance at him as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside, and she settled against the back wall and closed her eyes for the ride down. "And that will be soon?" Jack didn't say anything, and when she recognized that he wasn't going to, her eyes opened, and wide. "Oh, it will be soon. As soon as I stop hating you—is that it? If I started fawning all over you, like I didn't hate you, you'd be over me in a shot."

Jack grinned at her choice of words. "Does that mean that you're going to start being nicer to me?"

"Oh, it's a temptation. But somehow I think it would make me too nauseas to be so hypocritical."

The elevator doors _ping_ed open, and Jack followed her out through the lobby. Kate had noticed there had been a frown on his face, but by the time he had matched her step, he was grinning sarcastically. "That's what I love about you, Kate. Your sweet, affectionate nature."

She grinned, feeling impish. "Well I certainly hope so, because you'll never, _ever_ make me change."

Jack was silent as they walked together to a sushi restaurant around the corner where they were becoming known. But sitting down, looking at the menus, Kate realized that she wasn't at all hungry. She ordered miso soup and a house salad anyway, thinking that she would be by the time the food arrived. Jack engaged her with short stories about his trip, small anecdotes about Christian and Nikki and Claire, but by the time their meals were served, Kate was feeling almost sick. She picked a little at her dinner, instead drinking mostly water.

"…are you okay?"

Kate shook herself from her zoned-out train of thought, and blinked Jack into focus. "Yeah," she dismissed, picking up her fork again. "I'm fine. It's just hot in here."

Jack frowned. "Kate, it's no warmer than usual. In fact, I think they even have the air on…are you sure you're all right?"

Kate tried to wave him off. "Just feeling a little hypocritical, is all."

If she thought she could deter him, Kate was sadly mistaken. Jack hailed the check and they left half their meals on the table. By the time they'd made it back to the apartment, Kate's stomach was almost churning, though she was adamant not to be sick. She dismissed Jack's suggestions to call a doctor, insisting instead that all she needed was a good night's sleep. It was more than obvious that Jack didn't want to let if go, but he relented eventually, even going so far as to offer to use the guest bedroom for the night. She was too tired to argue.

But in the morning, Kate looked and felt too sick to protest any longer. Jack called a friend of his from the local hospital, and they barely had to wait ten minutes before he arrived. Kate decided to make the most of those ten by silently protesting in bed.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Kate looked up, leaning so she could see him. "What?" Her voice was painfully raw.

"When I came in," he was saying, "Your sheets were everywhere. And…and you were saying 'Sam.'"

Kate leaned back, sighing. "I've forgotten," she lied, though she clearly remembered. Sleep had been fretful enough without that dream coming from no where. The one she'd had so often, about trying to get Sam to…to _save her_, from Diane and…Wayne. It had been awhile.

"Why won't you share it with me?" Jack's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and she glanced at him again.

"I don't want to share anything with you."

He frowned. "You live with me."

"Yes, but…" Kate frowned, and looked away, "But that's all I'll ever share with you."

She felt herself getting upset all over again, so Kate forced a change in subject.

"Jack, I don't need a doctor."

"You're hardly in a position to say so."

Kate closed her eyes from where she had been forced into bed, her hand falling to her sweat-sleeked brow and knotted hair. She sighed. "Why don't you just look at me yourself?"

Jack shook his head, his tone flat. "I can't do that, Kate."

"Why not? Don't tell me you're embarrassed to see me naked. I know I look like shit, Jack, but that sort of comes with the package. Unless you're afraid that seeing me look so ugly will turn you off entirely? Huh," she mused, grinning, "Now I almost want you to see how gross I look."

"Kate…"

"No, Jack, maybe you should. My hands are pretty clammy, and I haven't washed my face or brushed my teeth since yesterday. Any chance you'd want to take a tumble in my sweat-soaked sheets? Hey, I might even vomit on you!"

"_Kate_, that's enough."

"Then _why_, Jack? Why in God's green earth must you actually _call_ a doctor, send him all the way over here, just because I don't fee—"

"Because I can't think of you clinically!" he finally erupted, and Kate stuttered into silence.

There was an awkward pause, where Kate couldn't think of any way to digest the information, and it looked like Jack desperately wanted to take it back.

They both thanked God, then, when the doorbell rang.

Both Jack and Kate were silent through most of the proceedings. He hovered around the doorway while Dr. Hamill took her temperature, blood pressure and pulse, and Jack even looked away when the doctor had to lift up Kate's shirt to feel her abdomen.

"It's just a flu, Jack. A particularly nasty one, but it's not the first case I've seen this week. She'll need lots of bed rest, fluids, and a steady dose of antibiotics—no other medications while you're on it, too." He paused, letting his directions sit. "Do you, uh…do you think you'll be able to take care of your…"

"My girlfriend. Yes, I'll be able to take care of her."

Kate felt groggy, already drained, but she started when Jack spoke. "No," she protested, though her voice was hoarse. "No, I want a nurse."

"_Kate_," Jack groaned, annoyed, and lips set, turned back to his friend. "Rob, don't worry about it." Dr. Hamill looked amused.

"Seems the lady doesn't trust your nursing capabilities, Jack." That brought a smile to Jack's face, but he merely shook his head.

"I can do it," he repeated.

And he did, too. Over the next week, Jack never left the apartment for more than five minutes; when her pajamas were soaked with sweat he helped her change, and he made sure she showered, brushed her teeth and took her medicine exactly on time. He had the maid come in every day to change the bed sheets and cook a meal. And through all this, he respectfully took the guest bedroom every night.

It had been a very long time since she'd been taken care of by anyone, let alone herself, and Kate found she had mixed feelings about it. Not so much in that she resented Jack for taking this position (she assumed all doctors, even the ones like Jack had some instinct to fix), and thought he secretly enjoyed seeing her so subversive and vulnerable. It took that full week before Jack felt comfortable leaving her alone in the apartment, and another one after that until he felt comfortable taking her to bed.

Though when he did, he was surprisingly gentle. But this only angered her; their relationship wasn't built on taking _care_ of Kate, it was based on mutual sexual gratification. She didn't want him to take his time, kissing her throat and her shoulders, running his hands all over her skin, slowly, as he was trying to memorize the way her muscles moved. She didn't want him to murmur things into her flesh like a husband, or a lover would. Jack was none of those things, and the last thing she wanted was for him to get the impression he could ever take those places in her heart. So Kate had grabbed his hands, startling him, and it was with a certain amount of frustration that she ground out, "Do you want me, or not?"

He did of course, taking her instead hungrily and hard, forcing her to grab the sheets just to stay still to enjoy the orgasm.

The next day, Jack went into the hospital early, before Kate had barely woken up. And it wasn't until she _was_ up, and walking about the apartment thinking for something to do, that she remembered the letters. Kate pulled them out from the drawer by the stove, and set them up there in the kitchen. First she opened the envelope marked with Claire's name, and what she read made her silent.

It was a document, a legally binding restraining order against one Thomas Brisbane of Sydney, in exchange for the sum of 30,000 Australian dollars. She had no idea how much that was in terms of the American dollar or the Pound, but it sounded like a lot. Oh, but the best part…it was signed not only by Thomas Brisbane—but Christian Shephard as well!

_Wow_… Kate stood still, digesting the information. Surely this guy must've been involved with Claire, but how much could he have loved her, in taking the Hume pay-off? She read through the fine print, though most of it went right over her head…_oh goodness_. There had been a baby. But…_oh_…Claire had lost it, in the second month, just about when Christian had come back into her life. Maybe that's what got him there in the first place? Maybe this…this Thomas guy, had appealed to Christian for money? The cover of the envelope seemed to imply that Claire had heard nothing of the payment, so maybe…Maybe she still loved him? It broke Kate's heart a little to imagine Claire, suddenly swept up in her life, and with no one from home to ground her.

Biting her lip, noting that she would try to find out more about Thomas, Kate put the document aside and picked up the stack of letters. Kate was right about them—they turned out to be love letters, but she had to sit on the floor of the kitchen when she slipped the first one out.

It was from Desmond. …To Penelope Widmore.

That wasn't in itself immediately obvious. He kept calling her "Penny," and it wasn't until he mentioned her father, and his own family, that she put the pieces together. Kate's face broke out into a grin. This was _too good_. She read them through quickly, haphazardly, pouring over each line like a lecher. They had a _love nest_ for crying out loud! Somewhere in Scotland, that they'd nicknamed "The Looking Glass." None of the letters explained the choice in name, though it didn't really matter. The envelopes dated the relationship as going on for _years_, more than a decade! It was…it was like a perverse Romeo and Juliet…and the best part was: _no one knew_. This, Kate was positive of, and she was half way through the stack before she actually digested the legitimacy of it all, let alone that they were so obviously in love.

Reading the last was perhaps the worst though. Penelope had seen something about Desmond in the papers, linked to a famous Hollywood actress, and she had lost it. Most of the ink had been smudged, but Kate wasn't sure by whose tears, as the letter was crinkled like it had been crushed in a desperate man's fist. This one had been dated about two years prior, and there were none after that. Kate almost felt guilty afterwards, especially when she pulled out some pictures that were stuck to the back of the stack, a few strips of negatives taped crudely to the back. They were of Desmond and Penny together, taken far enough away to imply that a paparazzo had taken them, and been paid handsomely for all the evidence.

Kate meditated on this as she slipped each letter back into its appropriate envelope, stacking them carefully in chronological order and retying the twine. She gathered the letters together with Claire's documents, and was about to put them back beneath the operation manuals (to be put back later, the next time Jack left the safe open), when she remembered Jack's file.

She almost didn't want to read it. Claire and Desmond's personal lives had been depressing enough, so she tried to ignore the folder, instead making herself another drink. But carefully…faulty reasoning slipped into her brain. Jack _had_ always tried to be open with her, and he was certainly always trying to get _her_ secrets…would it really hurt? No…no, it wouldn't.

Kate pulled the manila folder out, and flipped it open.

Kate gasped. They were two marriage licenses. Well…alright. One marriage license, to a Juliet Burke, and one divorce settlement, to a Sarah Shephard. The wedding license was dated fifteen years ago, putting (Kate did the math) Jack in med school…was she another student? It couldn't have lasted long, regardless, because the divorce document to Sarah had been in less than five years after the first piece of paper, though the second marriage was written to have lasted just under a year.

It was well into the afternoon when Kate finally had grasped all the information, most of it having barely punctured her conscious when first read.

At one point, she thought of how she could write about all this. It was an entertaining thought—the Humes were all so stuck-up, it would be so _gratifying_ to point out just how susceptible to temptation they all were. Goodness, she could send that in to Edward Mars for sure, and she could probably even name her price! But she never _actually_ felt the desire to do so. Even though theirs was a business arrangement, she still felt some amount of loyalty to Jack, and she didn't want to give him so easy a reason to dump her. He probably could withhold her settlement, anyway. But…that didn't mean she couldn't…interfere…if just a little.

Jack wasn't back yet, so she thought that he must've taken on a surgery. With a glance to the clock, Kate picked up the phone, and dialed the operator.

"Uh, yeah, hi. I need, um…I need a phone number in Sydney, Australia."

* * *

The next day, the phone rang while Jack was in the shower.

"Hello?"

There was a pause on the line. "I want to talk to Jack."

It was Claire. Kate sucked in a breath as she leaned back a little, her eyes unconsciously going towards the bathroom. "Well, hello Claire," she murmured.

"Kate, I don't want to talk to you. _Get Jack_."

Claire's tone was trying to be cruel, and it bothered her. Frowning, Kate felt frustration well up in her throat. "Well, it's nice to talk to you too, Claire. How are you? I'm fine."

"Kate, stop it. That's not funny. Is Jack even there?"

She sighed. "Yes, he's here. But did it ever occur to you to say please?"

"Not to you, it didn't." Kate looked down, at her skirt, and started picking at the hem. "Why don't you just leave him alone, anyway? You're ruining his life!" Her thick Australian accent 

tripped over the words a little, like they got stuck in her pretty cheeks. Kate could practically see her face, and a forgotten sense of longing came from within her.

"_I'm_ ruining _his_ life?" she pleaded, "Claire, please. If you could only understand…"

"No, that's enough! I don't want to talk—to—I don't want to talk to girls like _you_."

"Girls like _me_?" Kate froze, before anger really did start to find its way up her throat. "Claire, I don't think you know what you're saying."

"Yes I do. I know _exactly_ what's going on there, Kate. He's obsessed with you. I've been in LA for over a week and a half and he hasn't even seen me yet, some sort of bullshit lie for an excuse!"

The anger turned to ice in her veins, and Kate's retort died on her lips. _What?_

"_Hello_?" Claire's annoyed voice interrupted Kate's speeding thoughts, and she started. But before Kate had a chance to say anything further, an exasperated cry came through the phone's receiver, and then the line went dead.

When the phone rang again half an hour later, Jack was around to pick it up. A frown in Kate's direction proved that it was Claire, and the blonde was busy relating her last conversation.

"Yes," he was saying, as Kate tried to be the picture of aloof while flipping through a _National Geographic_. "Yes, of course I'll meet you to say good bye. Don't worry. When and where?"

He scribbled a note down on the pad next to the phone, then hung up.

"Sounds like you and Claire fought again," he observed, and Kate carefully had no reaction.

"Yeah, well…she started it."

Jack laughed, formally, and took the note back into his office.

"Doesn't she have _any_ friends?"

Kate wasn't sure what propelled her to ask the question, but it spilled out of her mouth before she knew she was curious. Regret sunk into her stomach the moment after the last syllable left her lips, but Kate stayed still. Jack stepped back into the doorframe. "Who, Claire? Why wouldn't she have friends?"

"Well…" Kate started, nervously picking at the closed corners of the magazine. "Well it just seems like, you know, she's been having a hard time of it all…since… You know I'm just saying, that she must've made some friends back in Australia, right? Before she met you and your father?"

She was digging for a reaction, though she wasn't sure Jack knew it. Despite her intentions, over the past few months, she'd been getting into the practice of being able to read his expressions most of the time. There were still moments where his face went impossibly blank, where all she could do was pretend he was familiar. Right now though, he was open, expressing confusion.

"I don't think…" he started, then shook his head. "No, Claire's fine. She's happy."

Kate chewed on her bottom lip, but looked away.

* * *

Jack went to the gym a few hours later, and when he was gone, Kate ran to his office and pulled out his schedule. There it was—their appointment, for two o'clock the following afternoon. Kate bit her lip, and toyed with the page for barely a moment, before picking up the phone and calling Jack's secretary.

"Hey, Veronica?" she asked, and the older woman recognized her voice. "Hey, I need you to do something…"

* * *

Kate pulled the sunglasses up over her eyes, looking both ways before she crossed the street towards the restaurant where Claire was waiting. Waiting for Jack, yes, but he didn't know that his younger sister was expecting him now an hour earlier than the plans they'd made.

She stepped inside furtively, adjusting her blouse, and found the blonde easily. Kate let out a breath and set her shoulders. Nikki was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean she wasn't around, and there was only one other chair at Claire's table. With quick, short strides, Kate walked past the maître-d and directly towards the Australian. The Hume didn't turn from where she was gazing out the window, though, until Kate was pulling out the chair opposite her.

For a moment, there was complete shock on her face, before it melted into pure venom.

"What the bloody hell do you think _you're_ doing here."

Kate felt her resolve crumble a little, but she withdrew her sunglasses slowly and set them down. "Claire, don't make a scene, I just want to talk."

"Well I do _not_ want to talk to you." She moved to pull back in her chair, to stand, and Kate thrust out a hand to grab her wrist.

"Claire, _please_," she pleaded, her tone unknowingly earnest. The blonde stilled, and then slowly…sat back down. She pulled her hand away delicately, as if she'd been dirtied, and started to pick at the tablecloth, starting down her nose at it.

"Where's Jack? Don't tell me, another bullshit lie about you being sick. He could just _tell_ me himself that he doesn't want to see me."

Kate softened, torn. "Claire, it's not that. I…I was sick, I really was. Jack has been staying home to take care of me."

Claire's face contorted with disbelief, and Kate misinterpreted. "Yeah, doctors, right?" she tried, and Claire just glared at her.

"No, now I _know_ you're lying. Jack would _never_ mix his personal and professional life together anymore."

Kate stilled, unsure of how to process that new information. She decided to ignore it. "Claire…it's…it's true…" The blonde rolled her eyes, and started tapping her foot against the floor.

"Whatever, I just don't care. Just say whatever you want so desperately to tell me so I can _leave_."

Now that she was presented with an audience, Kate almost forgot what to say. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry," she started, and Claire snorted. "Claire, please. I really am. Please know how much it killed me to lie to you."

"How could you do that, Kate?" she suddenly said, rounding on her. "I _trusted_ you!"

"I know. I'm so, so sorry Claire."

"Yeah, well, you'd better be."

"I am. I'm sorry."

Claire quieted, as if she wasn't ready to process Kate's apology. She turned her gaze about the restaurant. "You…you don't know what it's been like for me, Kate. You don't know how lonely I've been…and Nikki!" the blonde looked like she was about to start crying—her eyes were suddenly moist, though she wasn't looking at Kate. "Nikki…Nikki hates me!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I just thought we were friends, you know? That you and me…you treated me like a normal person, like I wasn't some train wreck who didn't deserve to be fed, or something."

Kate's heart went out to her, and her gaze unintentionally softened. "I'm so, so sorry Claire."

The blonde sniffled, though her lips quirked a little. She swallowed, and turned back towards Kate, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "It's okay," she said at last. "I'm sorry too."

A smile broke Kate's mouth, and for the first time in a long, long time, she felt legitimately and undeniably _happy_. She reached across the table and grabbed Claire's hand, giving it a good squeeze.

"I have a surprise for you," she said, and Claire laughed a little, happy as well.

"Don't tell me, your name's not Kate either."

Kate's smile broke even larger as she recognized the joke, but she merely shook her head.

"No, Claire, I found him. I found Thomas."

Claire's expression faltered. She blinked, shook her head once, and then tried to smile. "What?" she asked, a little confused, more unsure.

"Thomas, from Australia. I found him Claire, and he's still alive—your dad paid him off, paid him to never talk to you again. I found him, and talked to his mother, got all his contact information. He moved to London, but it shouldn't be hard to find him…here," she turned away from Claire to her purse, and pulled out an envelope. "I got all his contact information—everything."

But Claire's expression had slid from her face. And in one quick flash of realization, Kate realized that she had done something horribly, irrevocably wrong.

"Thomas…Thomas almost killed me," she whispered, like she had forgotten Kate was there. And then she came to realize she wasn't alone, and fury and horror flashed in her eyes. "Is this some sort of joke?" she demanded, and she rose immediately from her chair. "Are you trying to…is this some sort of a threat!"

"What?" Kate started, until her mind kicked back into gear. "What, no! No, Claire, I thought you were still in love with him!"

"_Did you tell him where I was!_" her voice was now almost shrill, and Kate felt the panic flood every nerve.

"No!" she almost yelled. "No, Claire, I just talked to his mother! I swear, I had no idea—"

"_Obviously_," Claire spat at her after a shuddering inhale, and she fled from the table, tears again pooled to the surface.

Kate couldn't move for a second. _How had this…how had this gone so horribly wrong?_ She grabbed her purse and the envelope and flew after the blonde, finding her on the busy sidewalk trying to get a cab.

"Claire, wait!"

"Kate!" she very nearly screamed, "Kate, just get away from me, okay! I want nothing, _nothing_ to do with you ever again! _Just stay away!_"

Kate felt her heart breaking, but she didn't walk away. "Claire, listen to me. I had no idea, no idea at all…"

But Claire had started to sob, in the middle of the street, and Kate couldn't stand still. She wrapped her arms around the girl and held her. Claire tried to struggle at first, but eventually, the sobs caught up with her, and she just dissolved.

"Kate…Kate…" she repeated. The older woman "_shh_"-ed the blonde, tried to calm her down.

"It's okay, Claire…I promise…he'll never come back; he doesn't know."

But Claire just shook her head. "Kate…" she started, and turned her head up to look in Kate's pale green eyes.

"Kate, I'm pregnant."

* * *

**end notes:** Ehhh? Maybe…maybe that's a little exciting? Maybe it makes up for the eensy bit of basically non-smut you get in this? I do promise though, the next chapter will contain a full-out LEMON. Which is what some fandom calls…well…all of it. I think I've noticed that Lost fandom hasn't adopted that phrase. Anyway. Oh, um, the next chapter might be late. I'm really, really sorry – and I really didn't want to have to do that, but it's my finals week (the really hellish one), and I'm just not sure if I'll be able to get it out on time. I really, sincerely apologize if it's late. My whole intention with this publishing structure was to have regular updates, so it's my fault. Ah well. Hey, leave a review if you have the time. I know I always say it, but…well…yeah. Heh!


	10. oh we're so very precious, you and i

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part ten: oh we're so very precious, you and i)  
****by:** AliLamba  
**rated: **NC-17  
**thanks:** To TIFFIE (aka MoonlightGardenias) because she made time to beta this AGAIN. No kidding, that girl deserves a HUGE chunk of credit for this fic in its entirety.  
**notes: **This chapter was basically co-written by the LOVELY AND TALENTED virgogirl32. Seriously? Go check out her stuff. She is not only a smut GODDESS, but the At-Home series she co-wrote with rougemarch is LOVE. You know what? I'm going to link to all of it here.

(just add the www fanfiction net thing before all these link deals)

Part One: "Enjoying the Game" /s/4094788/1/EnjoyingtheGame  
Part Two: "Payback" /s/4237712/1/Payback  
Part Three: "Baby It's Hot Inside" /s/4240711/1/BabyItsHotInside  
Part Four: "Good Morning, Sunshine" /s/4245210/1/GoodMorningSunshine

That's right. Call me pimp-daddy plz :P

**Clean version here:** alilamba-writes (dot) livejournal (dot) com/6591.html

* * *

Every muscle in Kate's body protested movement. _What?_ …_How? And…when…?_ Half-thoughts were flying through her brain, but Claire's big blue eyes, all glossed with tears, were staring at her as if Kate held her world's resolve.

"Claire…" she started carefully, "Claire, we have to tell Jack."

The blonde's expression turned to horror. "No!" she cried. "No, please, please we can't tell him. We can't tell anyone."

"We have to tell someone, Claire."

Her inhale was wet, and Claire turned away to bite her lip. Kate's eyebrows knit with overwhelming concern. "Claire…" her voice was gentle, like porcelain, "Do you…do you know…whose it is?"

Tears billowed to the surface, and the younger girl literally folded inward. Kate's gaze swept the busy sidewalk—there were people everywhere, and who knew who they all were. They needed to go somewhere private. Kate stepped past Claire, a foot into the street, and hailed a cab.

"Where's Nikki?" Kate asked when they were inside one, speeding towards Jack's apartment.

The blonde was trying to forcibly hold back tears, her hand pinching her lips together, trying to be casual, and wfhen she processed the question the young girl forced a laugh.

"She's uh…she left me."

"Left you? Wha..what does that mean?"

"It means that I haven't seen her in a week, Kate." Her voice had come out as cruel, accusing her of being nosy. Kate looked down, and they fell into silence.

* * *

When they got back to Jack's apartment, Kate instinctually went to the drinks cabinet to fix them something. But she paused in front of it, and the reality of the situation clicked into place. _Pregnant_. She put the kettle on instead.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she said at last, having been watching Claire wander awkwardly about the apartment, stopping to inspect some of the smaller affects decorating the place. Though Kate had been calling the place 'home' for the past few months, there was hardly anything of hers to decorate it. A spare set of keys, a magazine subscription, some books that were hers…but no pictures of her and Jack filled the walls, no small tokens that would evoke some sweet memory. Kate had found something like that only once: a seashell she had carried with her for awhile when they visited Argentina, and that Kate had thought she left there. It had been thrown out almost immediately.

The blonde settled against the couch cushions, but Kate could tell that their intimacy had been cut off again. Claire was rigid, disapproving; she was making it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with Kate anymore.

Kate sighed, busying herself instead with making tea. She remembered that Claire liked it sweet (how long ago that week seemed) and added tablespoons of honey to the girl's mug.

The apartment door slammed open.

Jack flew inside, grabbing both girl's attention. He looked livid. The kettle's whistle started to blow, but Kate couldn't move.

Recognizing them made him freeze in the doorway, and everything on his face fell into shock, then confusion. And as she watched, his emotions started to peel away like layers of an onion, until he was dropping his briefcase and he started to move towards her; long, loping, determined steps. And before she knew what to expect, Jack enveloped her in a strong, desperate hug.

"Jack…" she whispered, her hands still at her sides, eyes wide. "Jack, what're…what's…"

The sound of her voice brought strength back to his muscles, and the ones she could feel flexed against her. Jack was pulling back to stare at her, and all his emotions were schooled once he did: the blank face Kate could never understand. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "I…I thought you had left."

"What? How…how would…"

"Veronica called me. To remind me of the change in schedule. You weren't at the restaurant." Kate shook her head but couldn't form words, confused as she was. Jack was inspecting her face, but seemed to appropriate her response. In a moment, he was stepping away from her, and turning off the stove. He left the mess as it was, stalling over the mugs and honey and tea bags for only a moment.

And then he turned towards Claire.

* * *

Claire and Kate tried to withhold the information, but it came out anyway. Jack was enraged—Kate had never seen him so angry. The afternoon was then a flurry of phone calls. People came and went from the apartment: doctors which took Claire into her and Jack's bedroom, policemen and detectives who wanted to know whether she had been raped. Family members Kate only barely recognized who spoke in murmurs with Jack, casting discrete glances to the blonde and ignoring Kate completely. Christian was on speaker for most of the afternoon. He would have been there himself, but him and Desmond were half a world away in Kyoto, and their business was too important.

It was nighttime when they found Charlie Pace in London. He was on the first flight into Los Angeles, and when he showed up, groggy and unassuming at three in the morning… Claire was scarlet. The way they timidly introduced themselves before being ominously ushered into Jack's office, followed immediately by select Hume family members...Kate felt for her from across the room. She had been relegated through this whole ordeal to sending sympathetic glances, refilling mugs of tea, making sure she was still comfortable without getting too familiar for Claire's stubborn comfort. Jack paused at the door, on the verge of being the last to go in.

"Kate," he started, and found her. "Kate, I don't want you here for this."

"What? Why," Kate started immediately, walking towards him until they met, and then terrible thoughts started flying into her head. "Jack—" she started, and her voice was threatening without knowing why.

"No, Kate, this has to be done."

"Jack…what're you going to do."

He sighed, looking over his shoulder to the open door. "We're going to marry them. Something quiet. Something we won't have to explain. Claire's too much a figure of this family to do anything else."

Kate stopped moving. She stared into the confines of Jack's office, to where Claire was probably sitting alone, scared and unsure.

"She needs me in there."

"No." Kate wasn't expecting him to respond like that, and her eyes lifted up to him in fury.

"Jack, you can't tell me not to go in there. I am going to be with her whether she wants me or not."

The way he suddenly smiled…tired, amused…almost fondly… Kate was suddenly disarmed, her eyebrows relaxing and raising. "No Kate," he murmured. "No, this needs to be done. I want you to go back to Claire's hotel and gather her stuff; take care of everything there."

The sound of his voice brought her back. It was tender, too tender, and Kate steeled herself against it. "You can't get someone else to do that?"

His expression quieted, as if he had more to say. "I trust that you'll do it discretely, Kate." He nodded towards the front door. "We'll be here when you finish."

Kate bit her lip, caught between being able to do something useful and trying to force herself past Jack. She knew which one would be more futile, so she cast only a glance into the room beyond.

"Just…just take care of her."

* * *

By eight a.m., Jack and Claire were packed and ready to go to the airport with Charlie. Though she was hardly involved, Kate was starting to find the Brit amusing. He seemed mostly in disbelief as to what was going on—Kate was hardly sure he _knew_ what was going on, but he seemed to embrace most the idea of being a dad. The way he was looking at Claire (though she was carefully looking in the other direction) seemed to indicate a hopeful start for the two of them.

The wedding planners had already been called, and were setting up the wedding for the following day in London. A very private affair, but certainly lavish: Nikki had been found in Brazil and would be there (no one was asking the appropriate questions just yet, and she seemed to be glad for that), just as Desmond and Christian were leaving later that night to make the ceremony in the morning. No one asked Kate to come, though at a certain point, she accepted that she wouldn't be asked.

Jack caught up with her right as he was leaving. There wasn't much to say, really. He looked exhausted and drained, and in a moment of weakness, she let him kiss her on the cheek.

Kate tried to sleep once everyone was gone, but the space felt somehow invaded. More people than she could count had been in and out of her and Jack's private quarters over the last 24 hours, and somehow…she didn't like it. They were strangers to her.

So it was midway through the afternoon when Kate started touching everything. It had started simply, by changing the sheets on the bed. But then it had somehow taken on a life of its own—she was soon running her hands over everything, adjusting even the smallest tokens in the apartment to match some sort of opinion of how they usually were. In Jack's office, she sat in his chair for nearly a full twenty minutes, just staring at the room.

That night, Kate couldn't sleep.

* * *

Jack was due to stay in London until the morning after the ceremony, to help set up Claire in her new life. He called to tell her that they'd settled on two homes: one in Sydney, and one in London. It was going to be just the one…but at the last moment, Claire had requested a residence in what she still considered her home town. It was the only thing that she had asked for, and the way Jack's voice was raw when he related it expressed how torn he was by the whole situation.

The doctors proved she was a few months along, having indeed conceived that night in Cowes, though Claire had refused to know the sex—Charlie had expressed some stubborn indignation, but had apparently eventually given in. The wedding was beautiful, but simple; in the pictures Jack sent her, Claire was actually smiling. A bit dazed, but still smiling.

* * *

Kate was carrying three bags of groceries, balancing them carefully so as not to let them fall as she negotiated a way to open the mailbox. It was the smallest and only second key on the key ring, but she was still having trouble with it. She was still so tired.

Almost dropping the bag with the eggs in it, Kate grabbed the thick packet of paper and mail. This was usually an exclusively Jack activity (he'd been skeptical of what she would have sent to the house), but he'd forgotten that he'd left the key and Kate hadn't thought much of picking up the chore.

After stowing the groceries and getting a glass of ice water to cool her down, Kate started to flip disinterestedly through the mail. She hadn't actually ever received anything, so it was a weird sort of routine.

Which made it all the stranger when her name actually showed up on the last envelope in the stack.

Kate stared at it for a long moment, trying to digest her own name, though there was nothing mistakable about the clear, black print. And then in a flurry she was ripping it open, tugging out the letter and reading it quickly. And then, though she understood it…she had to read it again.

It was from the magazine. The photography magazine where she had sent her essay so many weeks ago. And not only had they accepted it—but they wanted to pay her for it! Enclosed in the envelope was a very own check addressed to her…in the form of five hundred dollars.

Kate was thrilled, almost overjoyed, and she spent a good ten minutes dancing about the apartment until she was too tired to move anymore. It was ridiculous, certainly, but there was no one to see her—and she had five hundred dollars all to her own! It had been more than months—almost _years_ since she'd had so much money to her name.

Kate jumped on the internet, and logged on to a website to figure out something to buy.

But in this…her enthusiasm started to fade. At first she was overwhelmed—there were so many choices—but after a while…she realized she didn't want, or need any of it. Jack had supplied her with clothes and food and entertainment…she really had no _need_ for anything. If there was a book she expressed interest in, it showed up the next day. Plays and ballets and operas were attended together as much for her amusement as for Jack's public persona. She'd already been so many places in the world…she didn't need a vacation…

It was later that afternoon, when Kate had started to resent the money. There was just…there was nothing to do with it, and all it did was flesh out how much Jack took care of her. And just how much she'd come to expect that of him.

But then…slowly…an idea found its way into her head.

Jack…Jack really _did_ lord over her in a way. He almost abused what a position he had, with all his money and power. What did he really know about not having it—what would he understand about how much five hundred dollars could mean to a person?

A slow, meticulous grin spread over her face. Oh…she could show him. She could show him _exactly_ what it was like.

* * *

When Jack came home from the airport, opening the door quickly, there was a trail of money leading him to the bedroom. She heard him stop in the foyer, stop cold, and then slowly follow the lead until he was standing in the bedroom doorway, seeing how the the rest of the cash was pooled on the bed. Kate was sitting in one of the chairs behind it, fully clothed, a catlike grin on her features.

"Kate…" he'd started, dropping his small overnight bag to the ground by the door, making sweeps of the room with his eyes. "Kate, what is this?"

"It's your pay," she answered simply. "For your sexual services. And I want you to strip, Jack. I want you to take off all your clothes while I watch."

A bemused sort of grin struck his mouth, as if he didn't believe it. "Did I hear that right?"

Kate wasn't derailed. "Is there something wrong with your hearing?"

"You know there isn't."

"Then what are you waiting for, Jack. But just so we're clear, just so we're absolutely certain…I'm paying you to do exactly what I want. And what I _want_…" she let it hang in the air so he could imagine the possibilities, "What I _want_ is for you to _strip_."

He was still standing there, that grin betraying how much he thought this role was false on her. "Is this some sort of game?"

She refused his intonation. "I suppose you could say it's a game. A foreplay game. The type you play with me to force me into your bed. Only now it's me sitting here, and you're the marionette."

Leaning against the door-jamb, Jack folded his arms, his eyes expressing his intrigue. An amusement curled his lips. "And if I say 'no'?"

"You don't have a choice," she said curtly, her face hardening. "If you don't do what I want, then that's it. You don't get food or shelter—you have to get out. Got it?"

Jack's eyebrows drew together in a frown, and for barely a moment, one of those rare, indistinguishably expressions showed in the depths of his eyes. But then, his voice now curt, "Where did all this come from?"

She felt her chin tighten. "Oh, you don't have to worry, it's not yours. I earned it."

"Earned it?" his voice was suspicious, and Kate couldn't help hating him for it. "How?"

"Not how you think," she accused him, her voice allowing the barest note of contempt. "I had a few pictures published in a magazine. It has nothing to do with you, or right now, and what you're going to do for _me_. I got paid five hundred dollars, and this is how I'm going to spend it. And really, five hundred dollars is rather generous. So why don't you get started? Or should I have set more of a mood? I know you never require one, but maybe like this I should have dimmed the lights. Maybe set out a candle or two. It is, of course, your first time like this. The first time you've been used."

Jack had let her talk, but his jaw hardened, and a bleak look came to his eyes. His voice rough, he finally spoke. "Do you really hate me that much?"

"Yes," she breathed, without hesitation, lifting her chin to prove how serious she was.

For what felt like so much longer than a moment, he stared at her, the unreadable cold expression detaifling his body language. And then he swung around to leave the room.

"Coward!" Kate yelled after him, louder than she meant to. But if she was honest, this is how she expected him to react, and she had been just waiting to be able to yell that in his face. He stopped on the threshold, but didn't turn to face her. "Come back and find out what it's like! Come back and find out _why_ I hate you."

There was a beat, where Kate felt how hard her heart was racing. But then slowly, Jack was turning, and he walked back into the room. His gaze found her face, and his eyes burned. Kate hadn't realized that she had left her chair, but when she saw him, she settled back in its plush confines. Her breathing was coming hard. "Now do it!" she said, forcefully.

For another long pause, Jack didn't move, his eyes still staring at her like he was daring her to cave. But Kate didn't move from her chair, she very carefully didn't blink, and eventually, Jack's slow, big hands raised, and he started to undo his tie.f

Kate knew how she was going to react. She was going to sit there, confidently and completely aloof, not caring at all, making him feel exactly like a sex object. She wanted to punish him for taking it for granted that she enjoyed their intimacy.

But…but it wasn't working entirely to plan. She'd almost felt guilty in calling him a coward, in seeing the way his eyes were so cold when they looked at her like they did, and that was something she wasn't expecting. And the way Jack was shedding his clothes drew too much attention to his features, precisely in the way he wasn't drawing attention to the flesh he was revealing so casually. Jack wasn't humiliated at all. He was just carefully removing his clothes, leaving it all in a puddle on the floor, staring at her face and nothing else.

When Jack slipped off his boxer briefs, and stood their facing her…Kate realized she had stopped breathing. His body was gorgeous. Even with the bland lighting of 80-watt bulbs, all his muscles were so casually on display, all the hairs and sinews of his body perfectly decorating his physique. Kate had to stick out her tongue, tentatively, to wet her dried lips, though her voice was no less hoarse when she spoke.

"Now…get on the bed."

Jack's voice was quiet. "On the money?"

She had to swallow. "Yes, that's where I want you. It's where you belong."

He didn't respond to that. His expression was still hard, but impassable, and he merely complied, settling himself on the mattress and blankets and mess of cash, organizing his limbs and staring at the ceiling.

Kate fumbled to join him—her clothes came off awkwardly, until she was in the green, nearly-sheer camisole she knew he loved. He didn't watch her remove her clothes, but turned to look at her face when she joined him on the bed.

_Go back to the plan, Katie…_

Kate's fingers hovered over the skin below his navel. Tentatively, she brushed her fingers there, and then she started to explore. Her hands became more confident, and she started to make broader sweeps over the expanse of his chest, down his arms and around his neck. She wanted him to respond, and he started to: his breathing started becoming audible, short little puffs of air. Though she'd been so intentionally avoiding it, Jack's cock began to harden, and Kate watched. She tried to dismiss his very physical reaction, but she was missing the fact that it was turning _her_ on—heat had spread into her pelvis, little shocks of excitement through her torso. Blood was pumping in her veins, and her breath started to match Jack's, and it wasn't until Jack was fully erect, and Kate was starting to feel her body pushing past mere arousal and into _need_ that she remembered why she was there. When he finally let out a moan…a low, potent sort of sound, his fists clenched tight against his sides…Kate knew things were going too far.

"You want me, don't you?" she asked, meaning to sound confident, but her voice was too breathy. Her hands finally found his long, hard length, and she touched it—brushing her fingers down the largest vein gently, then slipping her warm fingers around it, giving very few, very light pumps.

Jack's eyes opened, and he stared at her instantly. He didn't _need_ to answer her out loud. There was such a raw amount of desire apparent in his eyes, and Kate felt it, so low in herself, just exactly how much she matched it.

Kate had to swallow—hard—but her hands still shook. Quickly, she gathered a huge handful of bills into her fist and then littered them over Jack's body, starting at his neck and going down until she ran out. "Well," she started, though her voice wavered now, "You'll just have to make do with this—because I don't want _you_." Pride infected her blood, and Kate grinned mercilessly, as Jack's face contorted with confusion. With a short laugh, Kate swung herself from the bed.

But Jack surged upward the moment she had moved away from him, and in too short a leap he grabbed her, and when he spoke his voice was callous. "Oh yes, you damn well do!" She shouldn't have expected mercy, and she didn't get it—he threw her down on the bed and pinned her with one hand against her waist.

Kate was first too turned on to move. Jack's fingers against her midriff sent a rush of warm, hot liquid through her core, and she felt it smear against her folds. Her eyes fluttered shut, but she tried to fight it, tried to focus her stare into a glare.

But Jack gave her no time to catch her breath. He ripped the expensive camisole over her head and immediately grabbed both of her breasts roughly, sliding the rough pads of his palms over each nipple. He pinched the turgid peaks hard enough to make Kate whimper, but whether it was from pain or pleasure she wasn't really sure.

Kate struggled against his grasp, desperately trying to break free. She managed to inch her way up the bed—barely two miserable thrusts—before Jack caught her, his eyes flashing as he grabbed her shoulders and dragged her back down beneath him. When Kate reopened her eyes she was blind-sided by a ferocity she had never seen in him before. Jack's eyes were nearly black with an animal-like instinct to dominate her, and it shook her, really shook her, more than she'd ever admit to enjoying as much as she did.

"I don't want you," she said snidely. "How could anyone want someone who's only second rate? Always being compared to a man like Desmond. I wouldn't lower my standards for you."

"Shut up," he growled back. He grabbed the flimsy sides of her underwear and ripped them down her legs, then tried to force them open. Kate attempted to clamp her thighs shut with all of her might but Jack was just too strong for her, shoving her legs apart onto the bed in one quick motion. Pulling her hips off the bed, Jack descended upon her sex, his teeth scraping at the sensitive nub over and over again. Kate bit her lip to keep from crying out, not willing to give him the satisfaction.

Jack's tongue slid through her wet folds as he inserted two fingers into her sex without warning, thrusting hard and fast. Kate's eyes rolled back in her head and her back arched up off the bed on its own accord. Without realizing it, Kate's body started thrusting against the power of Jack's hand and mouth, desperate for anything he was giving.

Suddenly, Jack withdrew. He sat back on his calves and glared at her, his mouth and eyes glistening with heat, his eyes cold and dark. A flash of a grin flexed his cheeks when he saw her flushed expression—this was all a sick game to him. Another rush of warmth flooded her pelvis.

"Second rate, huh? Cheap talk for a girl who's selling herself to me for a few nice things. Tell me Kate, why is it that you only like me to fuck you like a whore?"

Kate barely had time to gasp, before she smacked him so hard he reeled back, his lip split on the side from the ring she'd forgotten she was wearing. He ran his tongue over the cut slowly, his face contorting in a maniacal sneer. He chuckled to himself and then focused his gaze on her, inching forward on his knees.

"What's that say about you, Jack, that you only know how to fuck women like whores?" Kate countered, her eyes flashing wildly, her lips set casually. For a split second Jack almost appeared…affected…but it disappeared as soon as it left.

"And yet I make you more wet than you've ever been in your life, Kate," he murmured, knowing he was right, and dipping his fingers down to touch her center.

She tried to smack him again but this time Jack caught her arm and yanked her towards him. It looked like he was going to kiss her, but he merely slid his rough, stubble-lined cheek against her smooth one, so his mouth was just above her ear. She held her breath, waiting for another cruel verbal attack, but all she felt and heard was his own, raw breathing.

No matter what she did and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't deny that this was what she wanted. It made her sick to her stomach that she enjoyed sex like this with someone who essentially owned her, but she couldn't help it. She wrapped her arms around his back and dug her nails in, leaving angry red trails along his skin.

He grabbed her ass in his hands and lifted her onto his lap. Kate shifted her hips, tilted forward until the slick folds of her labia were sliding over his cock. Jack groaned uninhibitedly into her ear, and Kate felt warmth flush to the surface of her skin. Her body reacted instinctually, and she started moving her hips in deliciously slow circles. Carefully, she wound her hand down in between the two of them and touched his member, which was wet with her own desire. She stroked him, and Jack groaned again in pleasure, giving into her control. The way he was waiting, his cock getting thicker beneath her fingers, brought a soft, devilish smile to Kate's face.

Her unregulated breath coming hard and fast, Kate yanked her hand away, then _shoved_ Jack flat on his back. He stumbled awkwardly, trying not to knock Kate over placed in his lap as she was, but she was far too prepared. By the time he had arranged his legs, she was straddling him, her hands pressing into his abdomen to pin him to the mattress. Slowly, she crawled up his chest, drew out all the motions until her mouth was barely a breath from his lips.

"_No_," she whispered, and her grin was fierce.

For a moment, Jack just stared at her, and she thought he would be too stunned to move again. With a triumphant giggle on the tip of her tongue, Kate started sliding away. But she should have known the cockiness would have been too much to hope for. By the time her toe had touched the carpet, Jack was with her, grabbing her naked torso and nearly tossing her back to the bed. She didn't even struggle. Jack's hand dropped to the expanse between her breasts to still her, as he guided his cock before her opening. And without any further preamble, he pushed himself inside.

Kate moaned, deliciously, as she pulled her pelvis back into the mattress, angling her hips to accept his length. Jack's free hand traveled down the length of her smooth, flat torso, until his thumb found her nub, and he pressed it—hard. Kate involuntarily twitched, the gasp sucked into her lungs, and Jack started to move.

He kept his thumb on her clit, leaving his other hand free, his cock gliding smooth and deliberate within her. Kate felt her muscles pinching up and down her legs, felt the delicious pressure from within her core. He must've seen the way she was reacting, must've noticed the way her chest started to rise and fall more dramatically, because suddenly Jack was wrapping his arms beneath her back, hoisting her onto his groin, climbing onto the bed with her. His thrusts came back, furiously, and Kate felt the whimper fall from her lips once more. The pressure was insisting to be recognized, and she encouraged it, heat flushing her system. Kate's eyes fell closed as Jack started to move faster, her release building. She started thrusting up into him until he came, hard, biting down on Kate's shoulder to quiet his groaned release. The bite flipped something in her and the flood of pleasure came right after, blinding her.

Jack stayed over her for a long time, but Kate wasn't sure she would have noticed anyway. After coming down from her high Kate looked around her, grabbed two twenties, and handed it to Jack.

"I'd say it was about that. Maybe next time you'll earn a little more," she said, settling onto the mattress triumphantly. Jack looked at the two bills and then looked at Kate, disgust and contempt staining the corners of his mouth.

He didn't say anything, and just the feel of his cool stare was enough to force shame down her spine. She was waiting for him to hold her, like he usually did after sex, let their hearts quiet in tandem. She was waiting for him to smile, to get it. Instead, he merely brushed the bills away and got up from the bed, striding into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. When the shower started running, Kate's eyes widened. Carefully she bit her lip and sat up on the bed, drawing her knees to her chest.

She had been trying to embarrass Jack, but all she'd done was make a fool of herself.

For a long moment she sat there, looking at the bills scattered on the bed and the floor. What would she do with them now? Slowly, she started cleaning them up, piling them into her hand. She'd only picked up four or five before she threw them on the ground and flopped on to the bed, hands on her face in defeat. The shower turned off, making her jump.

Quickly, she gathered the rest of the bills into the bag she'd got them from the bank in, setting it aside for 'more' inspiration. She was just tugging her camisole back on when Jack walked from the bathroom, towel around his waist, directly to the dresser.

"Get dressed," he said, his voice cool and distant. "I want to go out to eat."

Kate momentarily froze, and then suddenly her limbs were propelling her forward, and her hand was raising, until it was inches from Jack's shoulder, an apology on her lips. But somehow…she couldn't say the words. Her eyes downcast, Kate did as she was asked.

* * *

Their relationship, whatever it was, altered from that day forward. Though they still slept together and went out often, Jack started taking 'guys night' a few times a week, sometimes coming back when Kate was in bed with the lights out, silently awaiting his return. And he still took her on business trips, where she would win over clients with her charm, and where she followed orders without complaint or snide comment…but there were some where he left her at home, almost intentionally. And it seemed more than anything, that he was always on guard with her, and definitely more withdrawn, as if he was questioning every one of his own actions.

Her first thought, when she noticed this almost a week later, was ambivalence. _So what?_ she told herself, and decided to try and enjoy the more free time she was afforded. _Maybe now he'll let me go_ was her next thought, though this one was strangely bitter, like it would be entirely her fault if he let her go now. Another week went by, and the distance turned to tenseness, until it was a relief when Jack went into the hospital, something he was starting to do more and more.

But even so, Kate found herself now waiting for him to come home most nights, sitting on the couch and unconsciously keeping track of the time.

Only in bed was where nothing changed. But even here…Jack started to make a habit of rolling away afterwards, not holding her for any longer than was necessary, and sleeping on the other 

side of the bed with a clear foot between them. Though she appreciated the space, she somehow never slept as well at night, making her sore and her head ache the days after.

And he stopped waking her up mornings. Usually, he forced her awake with him, making her share breakfast with him regardless of how little sleep they'd gotten, or how much she whined in protest. But now he left the bed when he thought she was still asleep.

It surprised her to realize that it was suddenly a week before Christmas. Kate was alone when she realized, sitting in a lounge chair staring out the window, trying to think of something to do. She was feeling tired. She was always feeling tired nowadays. But Christmas was something to think about, and without really knowing why, she realized that she wanted to get Jack something.

For the first time in a few days, Kate felt like going out. So she got up, got dressed, and was looking around for her keys and purse, going over a mental list of all the places she could shop for ideas, when the doorbell rang. Popping the last of a muffin in her mouth, Kate clapped her hands to free the crumbs and went to answer it. _Jack must've sent for dry cleaning_.

But when she pulled the door open, the muffin turned to ash in her mouth: a big mess of unsavory glue. She forgot it was there.

At the door was Christian Shephard.

* * *

**end notes:** Sorry I was late with this. Reader-ship really peaked on this fic after the sixth chapter, which was hard for me to swallow. And then I remembered that there are still so freakin' many of you still reading this (and really, it was those of you who brought it up to me recently that got me to post this now), and it would be stupid for me to stop posting at all. So yes. I am going to finish this fic whether you like it or not. Because the world needs Jate! (like the "At Home" series. For serious. Check it out. Links are at the top of this chapter!) EFF all things spectacular. JATE is spectacular to the SUPER degree all the freakin' time.


	11. make everybody late

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part eleven: make everybody late)  
****by:**AliLamba  
**rated: **R (check back later – this might get smut! I'll let you know)  
**notes: **Hmm. This chapter…was not only long, but it's a little predictable. Well, hmm. You guys have been putting a lot of guesses forward throughout this whole thing, and this fulfills some of those, more or less unintentionally, as this is how the fic was always planned to go. Oh, and this is possibly the shortest chapter I've submitted thus far. The uh...the next one will make up for this HANDSOMELY.

**Clean version here: **alilamba-writes (dot) livejournal (dot) com/6684.html

* * *

Christian Shephard. Kate's hand froze on the door, gripped the wood like a life raft. What…what was he doing here? She started to furiously rack her brain for any hint of Jack's that his father was in town, but she kept coming up blank. Confusion turned to anger in her mind (the gall of him, showing up like this), and quickly, she tried to slam the door in his face.

Tried, of course, being the operative word. Christian's hand shot out to grab the door, and it required too little effort on his part to push it back open and slide inside. Kate glared at him after giving up.

"Well, hello Christian," she drawled, "Please, do come in."

He didn't look at her, just stepped past her and paused, making a few sweeps of the room with his eyes. "We need to talk, Kate," he said, his voice cold and exact, like always.

"Well, I do apologize, because you really should have called ahead to make an appointment. I'm afraid I'm busy just now."

"That's enough."

Kate sighed in exasperation. _Fine_. "What do you want, Christian?" she asked, tossing the door shut, striding around the couch to take a seat in one of the lounge chairs. Christian took the couch she passed over, settling himself into it stiffly. "Jack isn't here, if you're looking for him."

"I know where he is. I want to talk to you."

Kate unintentionally felt her muscles freeze up. Would this be about…about Thomas? Had Claire gone running to him the first chance she got, telling him all about how Kate had… She gulped on a sharp pulse of anxiety. Had they told Jack?

"Are you…" the reluctant sound of his voice drew her out of her train of thought. "Are you…okay?"

Kate was momentarily stunned, unaware of the dark circles under her eyes, her skin pale because she'd forgotten to put on make up…again. And then she tried to force a laugh. "I'm fine. I'm not going to die, if that's what you're hoping."

Christian frowned when she said it. "I want to talk about Jack."

Though she felt her muscles slowly unwind, Kate had to roll her eyes. "Of course you want to talk about Jack."

The muscles in his cheek twitched. "Well, you can guess why I'm here. We all thought that Jack would be…._over_, you by now—"

"You mean he would have grown tired of me and kicked me out, is that what you're trying to say?" she was having trouble keeping the venom from her voice, and then Kate decided that she really didn't care.

Christian frowned, but wasn't deterred. "Yes, more or less. I…his family is concerned about him. We want him to have a normal life."

Kate snorted. "Normal life?"

Christian leaned back against the couch. "Yes, normal. It's time he was settling down, looking for a wife."

"You mean another wife." The words had slipped out unintentionally, but Christian's eyebrows raised when she said it—he obviously was surprised she knew about his son's past.

"Yes, Jack has been married before. We all liked Sarah, and…Juliet…" His voice had quieted over the latter name, as if he didn't really want to include her in the list. "But I don't need to tell you that they were both respectable women of certain prominence, and they served this family well."

Kate had to laugh, though the effect was weak. She assumed that they would have been. "Jack's reputation these days is hardly one for matrimony. I take it that you'd rather he do that—play the field—than be with me."

She was trying to get a rise out of the patriarch, but Christian didn't even blink. "You're no good for him, Kate. I think you know that. If you care about him at all—"

"I don't." Her voice was harsher than she meant to when saying it. But again, Christian wasn't phased.

"So you're in it for the money."

Kate rolled her shoulders, having just felt how stiff they were. She looked away. "What else? Actually, come to think of it—what else is your family good for?"

The change in aura was immediate. Though silence dropped between them, it was static, and Kate turned back to him to see a spark in his eyes.

"I'm willing to pay you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to stay away from him. For good."

Kate felt like she'd been punched in the stomach, and it made her feel physically sick. So that was why he was here. And…goodness…two hundred and fifty could set Kate up for life. She had thought that whatever Christian could say wouldn't hurt her, that words were just that, but she felt disgusted, embarrassed, ashamed to be in the same room with him. And then angry. Did he _really_ think that she was a woman who could be bought like that? _Really?_ The type of woman who would accept any of his handouts! To them she was no better than Thomas Brisbane, some disgusting idiot who attempted murder. _Oh God_. No, she told herself. _I'm different_.

"No," she finally choked out. "No, I don't think so."

"If you think I'm going to give you a better offer, you're sorely mistaken."

"I don't want a better offer. I don't want anything from you."

Christian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together loosely. "Then what is it that you want, Kate," he murmured, so casually. "I don't think I need to say that I know _everything_ about you."

Kate sucked in a gasp. She should have expected that. "No," she said again. "No, I don't want anything."

There was a short pause. "I'll raise it to three hundred thousand."

She forced another laugh, forced herself to feel incredulous. But he was serious. From his jacket pocked, Christian pulled out a loosely folded document and an expensive ink pen. "In exchange, you sign these papers that say that you'll never get anywhere near my son again."

Kate didn't need to look at it—she already knew what it said. And she already knew what her answer was. "No," she reiterated.

Christian's stare turned hard, his eyes narrowing into a glare. "If you're trying to get him to marry you, Kate, I can tell you right now that you won't succeed. He may be obsessed with you right now, but my son has enough sense to know that it won't last, and that no one would welcome you into our family. You're not wanted. So you would be much better advised to take the money I'm offering you."

There it was again—that word: _obsessed_. Kate could only shake her head, numbly.

"He's not obsessed with me," she countered, her voice hoarse.

Christian sighed. "He was supposed to stay in Scotland for a few weeks in November, but he cut it short. And when he got back here, he wasn't in his office for over a week. And not only that, but he's started turning down business trips, and Jack doesn't do that. My son doesn't do that. He was supposed to be in Kyoto with me, not Desmond. But don't think this is special, Kate. Don't think that you're the only one who he's done this with."

Kate knew that he was lying through his teeth, and that was something. He would only be here if there was a danger that Jack would commit himself to her irrevocably. But the why was the ridiculous part. Jack had certainly never mentioned marriage, and Kate had made it abundantly clear that she would never stay with him for a moment long than was necessary. But that…that had been between the two of them. From an outsider's perspective, thinking of their relationship, it should seem silly that Jack would want to keep her.

Goodness, all she'd ever wanted to do was run and here Christian was giving her the money to do it with. He probably knew the combination of the safe, could get her passport or get her a new one just as easily. A grin struck her mouth at the irony of it all. She knew, already, that she wasn't going to take it, and with a slow shake of her head, she got to her feet. Jack could get tired of her when he damn well pleased.

"I'm not going to take your money," she started, walking towards the window. "And I'm not going to leave."

"If you think I'm going to push up the price again, Kate, you're sorely mistaken. That was my final offer."

"I already said no."

There was another heavy pause, where neither moved. "I can make things extremely uncomfortable for you, Kate. You would be wise to take the money. Desmond and I—"

Kate didn't even turn. Yes, of course he would be in on it too. Or maybe Christian was just bringing up his name to goad her. Whatever it was, wasn't working. He had stopped talking when he saw her snort, but Kate didn't much care. _Desmond_. How far away that love affair seemed. How could she ever imagine herself so interested with him? Desmond, from all her subsequent experiences with him…he'd just been so cold towards her. She couldn't imagine him loving anyone as passionately as he apparently had Penelope, and she couldn't imagine him being a careful lover, not like Jack. _Not like…_ Kate's shoulders tensed when she noticed the direction of her thoughts, and she shook them off. "No," she said, again. "No, my answer is final. And please don't threaten me, Christian. Any harm you do to me will only affect Jack—and I'm sure you don't want that."

She turned back to face him, and saw that he looked livid. "Now who's doing the threatening?" he asked, his voice colder than ever before. "You're going to regret this, Kate. Remember that Jack could tire of you and throw you out at any moment."

Kate shrugged, as casually as she could. "Perhaps."

"Then why take the chance? I'm offering you everything you want, right here Kate. This is enough money to _never_ have to deal with the complications of your past again. I can have your entire record wiped, Kate."

Kate bristled. "Maybe he will marry me," she goaded.

Contempt showed in every line of his face. "You'd marry someone you don't love, just for the money. And you're not going to take my offe—"

But Kate was past hearing him. He was making her irrationally angry. "I'm tired of living from day to day. You know what I want, Christian? To have a future. To know exactly where I'll be in five years, in ten years' time. To have some place to call home. To know that—" Kate broke off, her hands shaking, and then gave a short laugh. "What am I talking about. I forgot that you were Humes were born in ivory towers."

For a long moment, Christian gazed at her, then he slowly got to his feet, stowing the pen and document back within his coat. "You're a strange girl, Kate. I almost wish…" he shook his head, a bemused smile on his face, and then stuck his hand back inside his coat. "Here's my card. Call me when you change your mind. But it has to be soon—this offer won't be available indefinitely."

He was holding it out to her, but she didn't take it. Realizing that she wasn't going to, Christian stepped forward and tucked it into the pocket of her blouse, brushing her breast. Her eyes suddenly blazed with fury, startling him. "Get out, Christian. Just get _out._"

It took her a long time to settle after he had left. She spent a long time pacing the apartment, bristling time and time again, until she'd worked herself up so furiously that she had to run into the bathroom to be physically sick. It wasn't until she was calming herself down after, over a strong cup of black coffee, that she realized she could have turned the tables on him—could have leveraged her newfound knowledge of the Hume family to threaten _him._But in the next second she knew that she wouldn't have. Even the Humes deserved a little decency. As much as she hated to say it…she knew that much was true.

She realized that it was strange that Christian hadn't brought up Thomas Brisbane and the deal he'd made with the man from Sydney. Maybe Claire hadn't mentioned it to him, or anyone. Maybe she'd forgotten about their meeting at all, in light of everything.

What Christian had said still bothered her a few hours later. But he needn't have tried to bribe her. Her and Jack's relationship being what it was…she wouldn't be surprised if Jack _did_ leave her soon.

* * *

When Jack came home that evening, looking drained and exhausted, Kate didn't tell him about Christian. But he still didn't mention his father being in New York.

That night, Kate didn't sleep well. She tossed on her side of the bed, not finding anything comfortable, until eventually she just gave up. Slipping on an oversized t-shirt of Jack's, Kate crept quietly into the next room, taking a seat on the sofa without turning any of the lights on. The open windows exposed some of the colored lights from the city about the room, striking highlights on smooth surfaces. She started to wonder, glumly, what she would do when Jack did tire of her. She still would have money, she supposed, but…_but_…

The bedroom door opened suddenly, startling her out of her thoughts. Jack was in the doorway, groggy and disheveled, a pair of flannel pajama pants on. He flicked on the lights, then froze when he saw her. His shoulders drooped, as if they'd been tense, but his voice was still harsh when he spoke to her. "What're you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep," she said simply. "I didn't want to disturb you."

Jack came closer to her, until he was standing before her. "Come back to bed."

For a long moment, they stared at each other. And then, for reasons Kate didn't know, she held her arms out for him, asking to be picked up. He did so, lifting her into his arms, allowing her to wrap hers around his neck. She felt him stiffen, and it pained her. So she leaned her head against his chest, and started laying kisses against the column of his throat. It had been a few days since they'd had sex—something that had started in the past few weeks, this not having sex as often—and he would want her now.

He laid her down on the bed, then went back into the other room to turn off the lights. But when he returned, he came back to her, until he was standing beside her, looking down, and for a long moment they stayed like that. So she reached out for him again.

His voice was hoarse. "Kate?" he whispered.

But she didn't say anything. Just stared up at him, lips parted, eyes soft. He gave a strange sigh, like something of a release, and then joined her in bed.

His hands moved over her skin lightly, spreading over her everywhere, arousing every sense. She let him murmur things into the flesh of her thighs, the crook of her knee.

Jack took his time to build and watch her orgasm, following quickly, and when they came down, together…she tucked herself against him, fitting the top of her head beneath his chin. Kate fell asleep to the feel of Jack's fingers combing through her brown curls.

* * *

When Kate woke up alone the next day, feeling exhausted but livelier than she'd felt in weeks, she got dressed, found the money that she'd made from her photographs, and took it to the first Salvation Army Santa she found. After that, she spent a grand day, shopping around for what to get Jack for Christmas. The fact that she couldn't think of anything didn't phase her, but she had fun, just wandering around, just looking, imagining him with different colored novelty ties.

At lunch time, Jack called her, and then joined her at the restaurant where she was eating.

"Jack, I'm fully capable of feeding myself," she'd said when he arrived.

He leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, which surprised her, and then settled into the chair opposite, ordering something familiar from the waiter that had followed him to her table.

"Don't I get any days off from you?" she taunted, grinning, slipping her half-read book into her bag.

"Ah," he tutted, amused, "You should have negotiated those rights into your contract. As far as we're concerned, this is a full-time occupation here."

She pouted dramatically. "Maybe I'll go on strike."

A grin stretched his mouth. "Before or after lunch?"

Kate saw the funny side of that, and stopped trying to deny her matching grin. "After, of course."

He chuckled. "No kidding. For a girl as small as you, Kate, you certainly do eat like a horse."

Her grin danced merrily, and she looked away, fighting laughter. "Ah, but a very well-bred horse."

"Definitely," he agreed, and when she looked back at him, found him staring at her fondly, for the first time she didn't feel like wiping it off his face.

When they were sitting together, after lunch, lingering over coffee like they always did, the mood was still light. Kate attributed her being so relieved from Jack's as-of-late attitude to why she didn't try to dissuade their jokes.

"Do you want some time off?" he asked suddenly, after a brief lull. "Maybe to visit some family, or something?"

She shook her head, fingering her small cup. "You know I don't have any family."

"Well, friends then. Someone from your past. For Christmas, even."

At this point in Jack's prying, Kate would normally feel angry, but instead she felt nothing like it. She merely shook her head again, looking away.

"Kate…" he started, drawing her attention back. "Kate, why don't you tell me about your past?"

She stared at him for awhile, blankly, somberly. She could tell him, of course. It might be only a matter of time before Christian let spill something about her record in Iowa, the time she'd spent in juvenile detention—all the reasons why he should have every reason to have nothing to do with her. All the ammunition he needed to drop her forever…hate her forever. _No._

So she shrugged casually. "There's not a lot to tell."

"Kate…" he started again, but Kate stood up abruptly, when he started to reach out his hand for hers.

"I'm going to use the bathroom, okay? Can we go shopping after?"

He didn't say anything, but nodded quietly, letting her go. When Kate got back (she almost wanted to be sick again) Jack was smiling amiably, and together they spent the afternoon shopping for all the people Jack had to buy gifts for—the ones that his assistants couldn't take care of. They had a good time picking out baby gear for Charlie and Claire. Kate dissuaded him from getting the soon-to-be child a sterling silver rattle ("What?" he'd asked, as if he honestly didn't understand the problem with it, and Kate had merely rolled her eyes and taken them out of Tiffany's indefinitely).

While examining baby clothes at one of the more trendy, "organic" baby stores that Los Angeles was so proud of, Kate had to ask a question.

"Hey, do they know what it'll be yet?"

Jack was sitting on one of the chairs, trying not to appear too tired and bored. Kate saw through him, but in her mind she ignored it. _He can leave any time_, she argued, impudently, with a secret grin on her face.

When he heard her address him, he stood and joined her in front of the table of mostly blue and pink ensembles, his hand sliding to the small of her back and rubbing comfortably. "Well…" he started, trying to hide a grimace, "Well, she's a Hume. If there's anything that can be called a 'sure thing,' it'll be that she'll have a boy."

Kate raised an eyebrow at him. "Sure thing?" she quoted.

Jack scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's sort of tradition. Well, one of them. The first child of any Hume is always a boy. _Always_," he reiterated, seeing her skeptical expression. "I'm serious—go back and look if you think otherwise."

Kate wasn't convinced, but she let him have it. "All right, so it'll be a boy." She turned back to the outfits, and started leaning towards the blue ones. "What are the others?"

Jack's focus was drifting, but he looked up when he heard her voice. "Excuse me?"

"The others. You said that the first-born boy thing was 'one' of the Hume traditions."

"Oh…" Jack started, and then looked away. When he looked back, it was with a smile on his face. "The uh…Humes have this thing, for…blondes…" he was trying to laugh it off like it was some big joke, but Kate was intrigued. She put down the tiny onesie and turned to him.

"Blondes," she questioned, incredulously.

"Yeah, the Hume men sort of always marry blondes. At first it was just sort of coincidence…but then it sort of gets uncanny. And these days it's sort of expected."

"You're not a blonde. I'm assuming your mother wasn't a blonde."

"Yeah, well, dad wasn't expecting that he'd have to marry her. But that's what happens when your father wants royalty in the family."

"Royalty?" The shock was pure in Kate's voice, but when she glanced at Jack, he looked almost bashful.

"Well, not really…I mean, well, some sort of Dame, or something…" He tried to laugh. "My parents weren't exactly happy together. Didn't exactly set the best example for me."

"So I've heard…" Kate murmured under her breath, turning away from him once again. "Were your wives blonde?"

Immediately, Kate knew that she'd done something wrong. The silence was her first clue, and then—she realized. Jack hadn't told her that information. _Shit._ "Claire, uh…she let it slip, when she was here."

Jack was still looking at her carefully, but he accepted her explanation. "Yes, they were both blonde."

There was another awkward pause. Kate turned back towards the baby gear, then grabbed some green ones at random and turned towards the checkout. "Well, guess I don't have to be worried you'll do something stupid," she joked, and was more than a little relieved to hear Jack chuckle in response.

Sighing gratefully, Kate added the gift-wrap option when asked.

"Oh," the salesgirl asked, "These aren't for you?"

Kate blinked. "No," she started, "What, do I really look that fat in this blouse?"

The salesgirl giggled, sensing the humor in Kate's tone, and went to wrap the clothes in fancy tissue paper. "Sorry, it just seems…like you're glowing." Her eyes peeked up to Kate's half confused expression, but Kate couldn't think of an appropriate response.

* * *

**end notes: **I'm hoping to submit the next chapter on Monday, but we'll see how that goes. Really, I wanted to use up this space to thank you guys for your response last chapter. When I said readership I meant in terms of actual hits (seriously, you guys couldn't have been nicer thus far in your reviews, and I thank you very humbly for that) and I didn't realize until afterwards how much it means to me that you guys showed your support like you did. But seriously, I'm letting you guys off the 'reviewing' hook now - if no one does again, I will still have no reason to complain : ). Though uh...you guys might have something to complain about next chapter. The sub-genre of this fic is 'drama' and well...the next chapter is basically the cause of that. Eh heh.


	12. and everything that you do, makes me

**THE BIGGEST LIE  
****(part twelve: and everything that you do, makes me wanna die)  
****by:**AliLamba  
**rated: **R, but no clean version.  
**thanks:**To Tiffie! (MoonlightGardenias) Seriously, she's been beta-ing this whole thing from day one...and it really wouldn't have existed without her. If I was wearing a weird graduation hat I would tip it to you.  
**notes: **Anyway, yes. This is uh...I think I warned you last week that this is where the 'drama' comes from, and...well...yes. Enjoy it!

* * *

"I want to take you somewhere," Jack murmured, as Tom-the-driver was taking them back towards Jack's apartment. Kate was looking out the window, but she turned when he spoke.

"What do you mean, take me somewhere?"

"For Christmas. I want to go somewhere with you," his voice was soft when he said it, and somewhere, deep within her chest…warmth spread. For a long time, Kate just looked at him, until Jack found it within himself to turn away. But even then…Kate didn't. Why was he being so nice to her? So…warm, even? And then she realized: it must have been the night before, when she'd opened her arfms to him. _But…but that was such a small_… Kate sighed, partly in frustration and partly in confusion, and turned to look out her own window.

* * *

When they got back home there was a message with the doorman—Jack was wanted at the hospital. She let him squeeze her hand goodbye before he was off.

Something in her was…disappointed, to see him go. She spent the rest of the evening finishing up small wrapping projects, getting presents ready to be mailed, but was in the shower when Jack called, saying that he wouldn't be home until late. He didn't give an explanation, and after awhile…that started to bug her. The most obvious reason was that he was working, but what if he was having dinner with his father? _Or…or another woman?_ Christian…Christian had been adamant that nothing she and Jack had shared was special, that it was only a matter of time. Who was she to doubt that?

It would be a few days before she realized that these feelings were born of jealousy.

Kate pretended to be asleep when Jack came home that night, and again when he left early the next morning. Hearing him wander around the apartment, for God knows what…Kate's traitorous mind started coming up with the most ridiculous possibilities, and each new one left her heart colder. By the time Jack was finally out the door, she had to sprint to the bathroom just to be sick in time.

But then…leaning over the toilet, fumbling like mad for the lever that would flush it all away…Kate realized that this wasn't the first time she'd been sick lately.

No…it was the third.

Kate blinked, dazedly…and then she was scrambling from the tiled floor, back in through the bedroom and to her purse, where she dug until she lifted out her small pathetic schedule book. Hands shaking, the stale, disgusting taste of vomit still in the recesses of her mouth, Kate started to flip through the pages, scouring them for that small red dot she'd been marking since ninth grade.

But then…it wasn't coming. _No._ No! There it was, late October…but that was nearly _two months_ ago! Kate dropped the book as if her skin burned, and felt her stomach churn all over again.

_No_, she denied, taking careful steps backwards, no, she must've…must've missed a date, is all. She probably forgot to mark one down. She was on the pill, for God's sake! Jack had been so sure of that. For those first few weeks, they'd used condoms and such, but it was only to get her adjusted…

_No_.

When…when she'd been sick…Dr. Hamill had told her to go off _all other_ medication. She'd gone back on the pill right after, but maybe…_Oh God_…maybe there were a few days where they'd been ineffective!

Kate collapsed on the floor in a heap, fingers digging through her hair against her scalp. _God…Jack._ Jack. He would be furious. What would he do! He would think…he _would think_…of Claire. He would think that it had given her (now she laughed, a hollow, cold laugh) _ideas_ of how to trap him into marriage.

_Okay, Katie. Don't overreact. You don't…you don't know…for sure…_

Biting her lip against the wealth of emotion, Kate tried to calm down. The first thing to do was to get a pregnancy test, something to really confirm it, and then find out what her options were. That's right, she rationalized. There was no point getting upset when you didn't know yet that you needed to be. That thought gave her the strength to stand up and get dressed, splash water on her face and rinse out her mouth with some of Jack's mouthwash.

But two hours later found Kate sitting on a park bench, close to hysterical laughter. She was clutching the addresses of the few places she'd looked to get the test done, but…she didn't have the money to afford one. And to think, just yesterday, she'd had _five hundred dollars_ all to her name. A spurt of incredulous giggles escaped her lips.

She would have to ask Jack for the money. But he would be skeptical, of course, thinking that she still had her payment from the published photographs. The only other way she could think of to get cash quick would be to sell some of her clothes, though she was hesitant to do so. Though they were such a trivial part of life, she'd chosen them carefully, imagining that she could still wear it all in five, ten years…when Jack got sick of her, and when she'd have to find a job.

But this train of thought… It brought Kate shakily to her feet. More than anything, no matter the results of the test, only one thing was certain in Kate's mind: that she had to keep this a secret from Jack. She could already imagine the words that he would hurl at her—him _and_ his family. A sick sort of grin twisted her mouth; Christian would think that she'd gotten pregnant deliberately to force up the price.

* * *

She'd been intending to ask Jack for the money that evening, but when she'd gotten home there was another message on the machine, telling her that he wouldn't be back for dinner again. Cold hard jealousy swept through her veins once more. Another woman? Was that why she'd been with him so long—he just wanted to line up a replacement? Bitterness was a tidal wave by the time he got home, carrying dessert.

"I wanted to share it with you," he'd said, giving her another one of those sweet kisses on the cheek. While he left her to dress down a little, Kate just stood there in the sitting room, holding a doggie bag from some nice restaurant. Jack was still in his good mood, and it would be foolish of her to try and bring him down—that would only draw attention to herself. So when he came back out, jacket and shoes doffed, rolling up the sleeves of his nice dark red dress shirt and smiling so amiably…Kate put up the act to match.

Eventually though, it got away from her. Jacfk was laughing too easily, and she was finding the witticisms too readily on her tongue. Though it shouldn't, everything about them felt old and familiar and warm.

But…she should feel different. Everything had changed.

* * *

Jack did the dishes while Kate dressed down herself, put on some comfy sweat pants and a tank top, brushing her teeth. Standing in front of the mirror, Kate looked down at her stomach. Absently, she touched it, and then slid up the blue cotton of her top to really run her fingers of the stretch of skin. It didn't look any different to her, at all…and yet…she couldn't keep her hands away.

When she walked back into the sitting room, Jack was watching baseball on TV. She stood by the bedroom door, just watching him not notice her... He swore a little when "Coco" gaffed and struck out, but it made her smile endearingly. Unconsciously, she felt her abdomen warm. But this only served to draw attention to what she needed to ask. Kate chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then made her way towards him.

"Hey," he said softly when he felt her presence, and held his hand out to her. She took it automatically, and Jack tugged her down next to him, fitting her against his side, wrapping his arm around her. It was a gesture he'd made hundreds of times, but now…Kate felt her entire body warm, her skin tingle. It was the feeling she usually associated with having a glass too much wine, but…she hadn't been drinking it…

For a long time they sat in comfortable silence, as the third inning went into the fourth. Jack rubbed his hand over the small of her back, slipping the cotton tank top up so he could feel a small stretch of skin.

"I uh," Kate started suddenly, her voice too loud. She consciously quieted it. "I ran out of cab fares."

Jack pulled back a little to look at her. "I thought you still had money from getting that picture printed? Speaking of which—should I be buying any magazine companies soon?"

Kate rolled her eyes. It was a joke, yes, but what made it not funny was that he _could_ buy it. "That was only for acceptance," Kate explained. "Not for publication. I don't really know when it'll be out."

Jack _hmm_-ed to signal that he'd heard, but his eyes were back on the game. "Well, just take whatever you need from my wallet."

Unconsciously, Kate let out a relieved breath. She poked her head over his shoulder, looking behind them. "Where is it?"

Jack grinned. "Back pocket," he murmured, intentionally.

Kate felt the grin on her own mouth, and she slipped her hand between his back and the leather of the couch, inching her hand to his belt, then a bit lower… "Hmm," she whispered, her words finding his ear. "No, not this pocket…" She slid her hand around his hips, to his front pocket, dangerously close to the line that would take them past baseball. Jack grinned deliciously, his fingers already inching over her own skin in kind.

* * *

Jack woke her up the next morning, two days before Christmas, by dotting small, warm kisses over her shoulder and neck, careful as ever to avoid her lips. She groaned and tried to roll away from him, though in her mind she was pleased. Jack used to wake her up all the time—forcing her out of bed with him so they could share breakfast together, regardless of Jack's intended duties for the day. And the fact that they were finally back to this ritual…her stomach flipped over, and it had nothing to do with the sweet spots Jack was hitting with his lips.

"Hey," he murmured, his hand smoothing over her sheet-covered hip. "Hey, I'm going to be in surgery all day today…but I'll make dinner plans, okay?"

She smiled and nodded, though a small part of her was disappointed that she couldn't smell bacon and eggs. "Coffee's in the pot," he whispered into the crook of her neck, then placed one final kiss along her jaw and was gone.

The moment she heard the door close behind him, Kate knew that she was awake. In part because she had to run to the bathroom to be sick again, and also because she just…was. Something in her that she couldn't immediately identify was sad to see him gone. It was on the tip of her tongue, really…that was the most frustrating part.

He'd left a few hundred dollar bills on the nightstand (somehow she'd forgotten to actually get the money the night before…) and they reminded her of what she needed to do today. So Kate used the internet and found a few clinics still open, then braved the rain-dripped streets of L.A. to a tiny, dingy, out-of-the-way center where they took her blood, but then told her the results wouldn't be available until the 27th at the earliest.

Kate walked back into the heart of the city, doing some quick window shopping. She still had to get something for Jack, she remembered…and that was perhaps the only thing keeping her out of dwelling on her emotions. Part of her was almost thrilled at the idea of it all: having Jack's child. But the other part…the part of her that refused to let her be completely in bliss about the whole thing…was contemplating his reaction. He wouldn't be happy, if anything was to be gauged from Claire's ordeal. And Kate couldn't help thinking that this child…if it really was there…would be the end of them. She could hear him accusing her of adultery, or worse—of intentionally getting pregnant to use the child against him.

The only alternative was to leave him. Leave Jack before he knew, before he could force her to do something terrible. A coldness swept through her that had nothing to do with the wintery chill.

It was late in the afternoon, so Kate bought tea and a pastry from a small café and then went across the street to a park to eat it. It was a modest one (L.A. wasn't exactly known for its lush vegetation) but there was a petite white gazebo covered in graffiti where she could escape the rain.

Hiding all this from him would mean telling Jack another lie. She'd told him so many already…her name, who she was and who she had been, what she knew about his family…the photography business…Kate guarded herself from him so obsessively, and in that moment, alone with her potential child, Kate realized she didn't know why. Jack was good to her—more than good. He took care of her, he protected her, he catered to her even insane whims. A small smile spread over her lips.

And then she realized. The biggest lie wasn't her name, or her circumstance, or her family background. It was that she was in love with Jack Shephard, and had been practically since she met him.

Her hands, holding the paper cup and pastry wrapper, fell to her sides, and Kate stared blankly into the middle distance.

_Katie_…

It was true. _Oh God_, it was true. Her heart was starting to swell with newfound emotion, and it started beating wildly. _You…Katie, you love him_.

Tears sprung to her eyes, as in the next moment, she remembered their child. She almost laughed and looked down, though the action was surprisingly infected with misery. But her and Jack's relationship was so obsessively built on hate—would the child know? Would...would this tiny him or her know that...that she really did love its father?

While this realization should have made her blissfully happy, Kate felt on the verge of tears the entire walk home.

When Jack came home that evening, telling her exuberantly to put on the nicest thing she owned because he was taking her somewhere well suited to it, Kate had already cried too much to be sad anymore. She felt strangely hollow, putting on Jack's favorite dress—the one of the deep purple color, adding pearls to her earlobes and blush to her cheeks.

But Jack looked as good as ever in his tux, and the way he looked her up and down so appreciatively when she stepped into the foyer after putting on her heels…it felt like she was loved in kind.

* * *

Jack wasn't anywhere to be felt or heard the next morning, Christmas Eve, but Kate stayed in bed for an extra second, furiously fighting with the nausea until she was sure. There were heavy, dark gray clouds through the windows, but she couldn't hear any rain. She couldn't begin to ponder where Jack was, but in that quick moment, Kate couldn't care. Tearing the blankets off her, Kate sprinted to the bathroom, flinging the door open and caving over the toilet.

The sickness was terrible this morning, but Kate could hardly dwell on it. Wiping her mouth miserably with the back of her hand, Kate groaned when she felt the last of the nausea pass, as she fumbled for the flush. When she felt her fingers grasp the piece of metal, she closed her eyes against the sight, and merely listened to the reassuring sounds of it all going away.

"_Kate_…"

She froze. A cold stab of panic pierced her heart, as the tell-tale sound of Jack's voice echoed from the doorway. Kate flung around, as if she was imagining it—but there he was, in the doorway, eyes wide and confused, his mouth open on the last syllable of her name.

"_Jack_," she breathed, couldn't even find the strength to raise her voice. On his face…his face was a mask of confusion, and even as she watched…his eyebrows smoothed, his mouth opened, and the realization dawned in one flat moment. "_Jack_," she said again, and this time her voice was pleading, "_No_, Jack, it's not…_Jack_…"

But Jack's eyebrows were now drawing together, in anger, and he whipped away from her and out of sight. Kate gasped in horror and stumbled after him—she slipped on the slick, cold tiles as she tried to stand, but she made it, swinging herself into the bedroom and then out into the living room. Jack was holding her purse in front of the coffee table, and when he saw her enter the room he looked up—his face bitter, broken. And then he dumped the contents of her bag. Her schedule book was in there, the one she barely used, and he grabbed it, flipping it open to the day's date, and then flicking the pages back recklessly, desperately, and when each passing week showed no small red dot next to the date, his face started to contort.

"Jack—what're…what're you doing here," Kate scrambled, maybe trying to distract him, though the attempt was so feeble.

Jack didn't look up, but his mouth twisted, his fingers savagely ripping back pages. "I cut off my afternoon, _Kate_. I thought—I _thought_ we could spend the afternoon together." He laughed as he had to keep flipping through the pages—a cold, high laugh, "I was going to take you away tonight!"

Kate was feeling tears rising to her eyes, and she held her hand beneath her nose to regain composure.

But Jack had found the last red dot, and now knew as well as she did how long it had been. And in a flush of rage he threw it down, whipping away from her. "How long have you known," he ground out, his voice ragged.

"I—I don't know…for sure," Kate started, and one tear managed to slip past her resolve. "I'm still waiting…for the results." The last part came out on a whisper, but Jack heard her. His hollow laugh proved that he did. Kate wanted to start crying, felt every part of her lungs as wet with the restrained desire to do so. This…this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Jack turned back around, and his face was tense.

"Get your shoes."

"What?" Kate started, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Get your shoes," he said again, with emphasis. "We're going to the hospital right now."

"Jack—"

"_Get your shoes, Kate!_" he now yelled, and Kate's mouth shut. Trying to reign in any emotion she could, Kate almost tripped back to the armoire, grabbing the first pair that she found. When she came back into the living room, Jack was waiting for her, and he merely grabbed her elbow and half-dragged her out of the apartment and down the elevator. They went straight to the garage and got into Jack's car. Kate tried to cover her eyes as he drove, fast and silently, to the hospital. She wouldn't pretend to know what was going on, but she could…she could only imagine… The thoughts that came into her mind were terrible though, horrifying, and Kate refused to let herself think of them.

Jack's hand found the small of Kate's back, and she tripped over her own feet as he pushed her through the pristine white lobby, through the corridors she'd seen on so few occasions. A few people tried to say hello, but Jack ignored them, until they got to an office with a name she recognized.

"Jack! Jack, what're you doing here," Dr. Hamill was in the middle of a consultation, it looked like, but when he recognized Kate…and saw the expression on her face, his own look turned grim. "Wait across the hall, Jack. I'll be there in one minute."

Jack nodded, curtly, and then directed Kate into the small exam room. Kate's silent cries were abating now, strong sniffles turning into wet heaves. "Jack…" she tried again, but he shook his head.

"_Don't_, Kate. Just…just _don't_."

She had to bite her lip not to let out a sob. Miserably, she crawled onto the exam table, tucking her hands underneath her thighs. Jack turned away from her, and started to examine the walls, and after a long moment, she realized he was closely inspecting a sheet...advertising the hospital's free and confidential pregnancy-termination service.

Kate stopped breathing. _No…_

The door opened. "_Jack—Kate!_ What're you doing here! Jack, you said that you had plans…"

"Plans changed, Rob. Kate needs a pregnancy test. And we need the results today."

Dr. Hamill gasped, and looked at Kate. There must have been a million questions on his mind, but one look at Jack proved that he wouldn't get an answer, friends or not. So he merely set his own expression seriously, and started moving about the room. He took a vial of Kate's blood, a whole vial, though the care he gave in preparing her arm, in gauzing and applying the bandage still touched a sensitive part of her heart. The doctor kept making furtive glances to Jack, but the expressions they showed were too much for Kate to handle—they dared all that Kate couldn't in that moment, all she knew she _should _feel towards him. But anger and resentment were still trumped by grief, and it would be a lie to admit she didn't want to cry throughout the whole proceeding.

When he left, Kate felt her punctured arm, ran her fingers over the veins. She felt like he had taken something from her, from her child, and she blamed Jack for it. And though she recognized this, she still couldn't manage to hate him. Fresh tears welled at her eyelids, but these she controlled, because she felt like she had to. Five minutes fpassed, and they were silent…then seven, and ten…Jack had started pacing about the room, but Kate couldn't watch him. Five minutes later, Rob Hamill came back inside.

He held a folder in his hands, simple, small, containing only a few pieces of paper. He looked at Jack, and his face was firm. But when he looked at Kate…there was softness, almost pity.

"It's positive, Kate. You are one hundred percent pregnant."

Jack swore and slammed his fist against the wall. Kate and Rob both jumped at his outburst, and stared at him. Rob looked disgusted, and he dropped the folder on the examination table next to Kate.

"Congratulations, Kate. I would stay, but…I have patients to attend to." Without another glance to Jack, the doctor ducked from the room.

"Jack, I—"

"God damn it Kate!" he raged, grabbing the folder and almost ripping it. Kate's mouth let out a sob, and she started crying all over again.

"Please, Jack…" she begged, tried to reach out to him. He eluded her, but when he saw her face, he stopped moving.

"C'mon."

Kate didn't bother to question it now. She just followed him, watched the back of his shoulders as he stalked through the halls, her folder slipped inside his jacket. The car ride home was silent, but this eventually settled her. Jack's face was blank, almost dead, though he managed the traffic poorly. If she watched him for longer than a few seconds, she would see the muscles there twitch sometimes, his eyebrows stitch together as if he was about to cry himself. It killed her to see.

"Jack," she said eventually, on an exhale, "Jack please, talk to me…"

"You planned this," he blurted out, his voice cruel. "You planned this Kate!"

"No!" she sobbed, and reached out to him again, grabbing his arm in her hand. Jack's face contorted with misery, and he glanced in his mirrors. Suddenly, he yanked the steering wheel. Kate didn't understand, until the car pulled into a parking lot next to a city park. He turned the car off, and brought a hand to shield his eyes. Kate started crying again, renewed, fresh tears.

"I'm sorry…" she sighed. "I didn't mean…I'm sorry, Jack."

For a short while, they sat like that, silence punctuated only but two people trying not to cry. Laughter drifted through the window panes, calling to attention happy groups and families enjoying the crisp winter air. It sobered them, until their eyes were dry, both staring at the playground. There were children playing, many of them, and slowly, Kate found herself in awe. A hand drifted to her abdomen.

"Well," Jack's voice cut the air between them, the sound of it raw and damaged, "I guess…there's only one thing…to do…"

Kate's eyebrows knit together, and she turned towards him, confused. But Jack wasn't looking at her. Wasn't looking at the playground anymore, his eyes instead resolutely on the dashboard. And suddenly…Kate understood.

He wanted her to end the pregnancy.

Kate felt tears rise up her throat again, but they felt like acid. Anger welled up inside her chest, raw and hateful, and she suddenly wanted to scream at him. How could he—how could he **actually** **dare** to suggest that…that she would **ever **do something like that! Her veins burned along her wrists, as she itched to slap him, to do anything that would inflict all the rage she felt. Her jaw set painfully, and her eyes blazed as they glared at his unseeing face. Kate barely had to reach for her seatbelt before she ripped it off.

"I'll take care of it," she ground out, scrambling blindly for the door. She missed the way Jack's head jerked up, his eyes wide, as he just stared at her…

But Kate was running. She _slammed_ the door behind her and took off towards the park. She ducked behind people, around benches, down paths and through trees and over small patches of grass. She ran until her lungs screamed with protest, until she could hear nothing in her ears besides the dull hum of fury. _How_…how could he…how could he even _dare_ to suggest that she would _ever_ get rid of her—of _their_ child!

Tears suddenly were erupting from Kate's eyes like faucets, angry and devastated sobs ripping from her throat as she let herself go.

_How did this happen to you Katie?_

She dropped against the cement wall of the restrooms she was standing up against, dragged her body to the ground as wails wracked her frame. She was heaving for breath now, though all she could manage to do was cry.

_How can you love him?_

Her heart was breaking inside her chest, the shards splintering into her lungs and spine. Every sound she made was wet, forced another small part of her being to die.

But then she felt it; the warmth in her abdomen, the small piece of her that still managed to glow. Jack's child…your child… Kate dropped a hand to feel it, this tiny miracle inside her. And she knew, irredeemably, that she could never end its life. Could never kill this small part of the man she loved so much.

Kate stayed out of the apartment for the rest of the day. She didn't have any money, but she found she wasn't hungry, instead more than content to roam the busy, populated streets of Los Angeles. Jack's building didn't come into sight until the sky was turning purple, the sort of haze that ended the day. Kate stopped outside of the building for a long time, just stared at it while she composed herself and the lie she would tell. Nothing inside her could conceive of the _what next_…all she could think of was protecting what was precious.

Her chin held high, her last tear shed, she walked through the lobby. In the elevator, going up, she saw herself for the first time. Her face was ashen, dark purple circles hung underneath her blood-shot eyes…the outline of her cheekbones pressed through the pallid, oily skin. She looked terrible, but Kate couldn't force herself to care, as her heart sunk lower in her chest. At least…he would believe her.

She had barely realized that she didn't have a key to the apartment door, when it was nearly ripped open.

"_Where have you been_," Jack demanded, his voice raw. A look to his face expressed everything: anger, sadness, betrayal. Kate blinked away the fresh sheen of tears, and instead only walked past him, inside, her chin tilted away from him.

"I did what you wanted me to do," she explained meekly, heading automatically towards the drinks cabinet. Her stomach heaved as she did so, the emotions too real, and she found she could only anchor herself against the wooden object. So instead she turned to him, where Jack was standing by the door. His eyebrows were knit together with honest, absolute worry, and for a brief second, Kate felt her heart flutter.

But then…what she had said seemed to connect to his mind, and his brow twitched. And he shook his head a little, and then looked at her, a look of pure confusion on his face.

"What?"

Kate licked her lips and looked away. "I…" she started, then had to cough over her dry, painful throat. "I had an abortion."

The room was deadly silent. Kate didn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't that. So she turned towards him, felt the bones in her neck as she did so.

Jack's face was melting with horror. His mouth opened, and closed, his eyes unfocused, until in one, unsteady breath, he released a syllable. "_No…_"

Kate felt as all of her muscles froze.

"_No!_" he suddenly yelled, and then she heard him sob. Jack stormed over towards her and grabbed her upper arms, shaking her roughly. "_No!_ Tell me it isn't true!"

Kate was stunned. She blinked, her mind racing, and all she wanted to do was faint. "Jack, I—" she started, not understanding at all.

But a strangled cry came from the back of his throat, and he dropped her, instead flying to the bedroom. Kate didn't move, until she heard the crash of the closet door, heard him rip open the doors of her armoire. Her body numb, she moved into the door's frame. Her suitcases was open on the bed, and Jack was running back and forth from it with handfuls of her clothes, dropping everything into it haphazardly, ripping things in his haste.

"Jack…" she started, though she couldn't manage to move to interfere.

"How could you do that, Kate!" he was yelling, throwing everything that was hers inside the cases. Her mouth was opening, but no words were forming. "How could you do that to our child!"

He finished with an enraged flourish, slamming the cases shut and throwing them past Kate into the living room. He ran after them and into the office, dropping immediately to the safe.

Her mind kicked into action when she realized what he was doing all in a rush.

"I…I thought…" she started, her voice so soft, "I thought that's what you wanted…"

Jack started crying, loudly, freely, the safe popping open. He pulled out stacks of money and her passport and stood, throwing them at her.

"I wanted to marry you!" he yelled. "I would have, Kate!"

The walls around them started to crash, Kate's vision splintering as Jack's words hit her gut. "But…but you…"

Another bitter, strangled cry echoed from the back of Jack's throat, and he grabbed her, pushing her towards the door. Kate was numbly aware of what was in her hands, but her mind was breaking in its race to comprehend. Jack grabbed her suitcases and ran out the door, not waiting for her to follow. He didn't go to the elevator, but the stairs, and Kate could only follow after him, flight after flight, until they reached the ground. "Jack!" she yelled, her chest heaving as they came out into the lobby. "Jack, wait!"

But he didn't hear her, didn't even stop as he ran straight outside and to the curb, hailing the first taxi he saw.

Kate caught up to him, and grabbed his arm. "Jack—!"

"I loved you Kate!" he cried again, and she started crying when she saw his broken face. "I wanted…I wanted to spend the rest of my life…"

She started sobbing, and Kate touched his face, one hand against both sides. He started shaking his head numbly, tears streaking down his cheeks, every crease in his skin making him look so much older than he was.

And she kissed him.

For a moment, he didn't move, but Kate persisted—drawing his face closer, moving her lips so his would move with her, until he was, until everything inside him was responding and opening for her. Their tears fell past their lips, into their mouths, until she could taste the saltiness on her tongue.

"_Jack_," she cried as they parted, and she grabbed fists of his jacket in her hands. "_Jack, please listen to me_."

His forehead rested against hers, and it rolled as he shook his head. Slowly at first, a broken man's _no_, and then, increasing, until they were jerks of his face, and he was staggering backwards, away from her, hatred billowing his emotions as he looked at her. Kate felt it, and she felt the tears again.

But he was disgusted now. He threw her suitcases into the cab that had stopped, and then almost threw her inside after wards. The passport and money that had fallen to the ground he threw in after her, and then he was slamming the door shut, yelling "_The airport_" to the driver, and fleeing from the curb inside.

Kate's heart, she thought was broken before…but seeing Jack's back, seeing him run away from her…it froze. Her chest ripped open, and she couldn't cry any more. Every muscle in her body decomposed against the cushions, and she felt her soul drop from her body. She was shaking by the time the driver pulled up outside the airport, her stomach feeling like more than an organ. The cab driver wouldn't accept any money.

She stood inside the airport lobby for a long, long time, fighting to stand still. Jack…was gone. She tried over and over to repeat the words, make them more real, but they sounded so hollow, so false. The taste of his lips still lingered, the sense memory imprinted on her body like flame. Her hands cradled the money and the passport to her torso limply, until she realized the sharp angles hurt. It was a long moment before she felt the energy to look up at the boards.

Because now she had more to worry about than herself. She had their child.

Kate's heart gave a painful throb when she formed the words, but they grounded her. It was with resolve that her mind started to process the words and numbers there, indicating the incoming and outgoing flight details.

She sighed as a familiar name came up: _Des Moines, Iowa_, with a flight leaving in three hours. It looked like she was heading back to where it had all begun, after all, and the irony was crushingly noted. But then…that really…it really _wasn't _where it had all started… Kate's eyes scanned the rest of the information, until her heart leapt. Why go back to cold, miserable Iowa when there was nothing left for her there? Where all she could anticipate was more miserable memories of a life before Jack?

No. She couldn't go back there to hide from everything. Suddenly, Kate grabbed her suitcases and headed to the nearest payphone. And with stunning resolution, Kate picked up the phone, and dialed the number she barely remembered.

"Hello?"

"_Claire_," she released in one breath, "Claire, please, don't hang up." Silence greeted her, but it wasn't the automated silence of a phone on its cradle, and Kate breathed in.

"I need your help."

* * *

**end notes: **Mmk, I know, this is the worst time to tell you this...but I'm not sure when you'll get the next chapter. I know. Only about a scene is written, though of course it's all drafted, but I just got so busy with school and moving and all this yunk. I'm in Chicago for the next...er, until Lost airs, so I'll try to write it then...but you probably shouldn't expect anything until this weekend. But this chapter was so early! So that's fun...right?

Regardless, really...thanks so much guys for all the nice notes you've left. As much as I've friggen written for this fic, I honestly can't find the words to tell you how much it means to me. And again, seriously - your job is done! I'm not saying that I need reviews like I need a hole in the head (which could..er...very well be useful), but it's really not necessary. Really, I'm most thankful that you're still reading this at all. That's right. Your stamina is impressive to me (did that...sexual innuendo come through? I've been on the road all day and arguably should not be allowed around computers...or...animals. Bah).


	13. oh i just told the biggest lie

**THE BIGGEST LIE****  
(part thirteen: oh i just told the biggest lie)  
by:** AliLamba**  
rated:** R**  
thanks: **Kylie, Pontmercy,Tahti, KK6916, DarkAngelmi818, mcanj25, chelelost, Hero, sluky, Lizi, livethedream, lu, nony, Amy995, Philadelphia, Jess, pearl, JateIsFate, adaire, fragilewreck, Sunshine-M, LostinNOLA, Ali, NYR88, greysaddict17, alex, Jen, xxxCrazyxChickxx, Wanda1988, DigDeeper, truestar92, didgeridoo, Yvie, Sue, Paige, CrisJK iheartmunich, AnnPatrick, hilsfoolishginger, ashsuga16, ann, gillybean970, Aneesa, D, aliaslover14, Nieve, ALL MY HO'S AT JAK DOT ORG and Tiffie. You know why.**  
notes:** Okay, this is about as corny as I get. Okay, so not really, as the typical Ali fluff is tooth-decay-inducing, but…yeah. Okay. You are forewarned that this is lame and to expect cheese. Oh, and I kept Kate's backstory. Just so you know. Well, more or less. Ohhh, just go on and read it. Savor it if it's worth savoring.

* * *

"_OhmyGodCharliePaaace!_" Claire moaned, letting it turning into a scream, another contraction crashing over her.

The red-head ran into the room, dropping everything he had been carrying. "Claire! I'm here! Is it happening?"

Kate looked up from Claire's face, wanting to offer a curt '_Where the hell have you been?_' but the sight of him was too endearing. Instead she merely smiled. "No, not yet. It's just contractions."

For a moment, it didn't look to Charlie like that was any better, but he went to his wife's other side anyway and took her hand.

"Claire, hun, you just squeeze as hard as you need to, okay? I'll be right here."

The glare she offered him under the pain was venomous, and as if in retaliation, she did indeed squeeze his hand as hard as she could.

"Yeee_eeaaagh!_" Charlie ripped his hand away, his fingers now a ominous shade of purple. He held his injury to his chest for a moment, tears springing to his eyes, but then he caught the way the two women were glaring at him, and dropped his injured hand to his side. "Right, probably deserved that."

Both women had to laugh, before another contraction gripped Claire, and the blonde tried to suffer it silently. Kate was preparing herself to be there for her, but Charlie stepped up to it this time, taking her hand again and wiping the sweat off her brow. Allowing the private moment to pass between them, Kate took her leave, knowing that there would be a while before Claire actually gave birth.

She wandered down the hall, looking for a vending machine, considering ice chips, ignoring the curious looks she was getting from the hospital personnel passing her in the halls. At nearly six months pregnant, she assumed that they were trying to decide whether or not she was there to give birth.

Six months pregnant meant that it had been almost four months since she'd seen Jack. She had no idea where he was, or what he was doing… She'd been hiding with Claire, if she could be completely honest. Which was strange, in itself, hiding from the man that you loved. Their last conversation…that whole thing… Jack had been cruel, and hurtful…but more than anything, he had loved her.

There were times before she fell asleep where Kate would be crippled with what she hadn't said, and the millions of 'what if's. But a much larger part of her was just so angry with him, and too proud to back down. He'd been a jerk, and he hadn't offered her the chance to explain—it's his own damn fault that he won't see his own child's birth, its life…the way he or she grew up.

That didn't mean that she cried any less during the actual event.

Claire and Charlie were there, with baby Aaron, and they'd gone back to the Isle of Wight at Kate's request. It was painful, the process long…and in the final moments, Kate had nearly broken down completely, crying Jack's name.

It was a girl.

She couldn't think of a name to give her.

* * *

"I think I see it! I think it's starting!" Charlie yelled from the masthead, practically bouncing to his toes to see clearly. Aaron was tightly swaddled to his side, sleeping soundly despite every un-intention his father was making to wake him (Claire attributed it to all the noise Charlie had made during the pregnancy, tinkering with all his instruments, trying to cultivate some sort of musical appreciation in the womb). The baby boy's mother was stubbornly relaxing a few yards back in a bikini and sunglasses, trying to pretend she wasn't sound asleep from the last three month's lack of it.

Kate was sitting beside her, nursing week-old "Baby" Austen. But when Charlie spoke, she nearly jumped. The baby whined in protest, which woke Claire immediately.

"Whu…uh…Charlie…?"

"Claire," Kate whispered, breathily, "Claire he's there."

The other woman sat up immediately. She was silent in staring ahead, and Kate was glad. She wasn't sure she could handle trying to discern what she was feeling.

Charlie was jogging back to them. "Here!" he disentangled the three-month-old boy from his side and deposited him with his mother, then went immediately to the rigging and sails of the small yacht they were riding in: the _Par Avion_.

"Charlie, what're you doin'?" Kate asked, momentarily stunned. Her child gave another cry and tried to move her small arms, but they were swathed too tightly in her blanket.

"Tryin' to get closer!" he called over his shoulder, though his fingers were getting trapped in rope and he wasn't yet noticing.

Kate froze for a moment, and looked to Claire in panic. The other woman was frowning, her face set. "No, Charlie, we're close enough."

"But—!" he started, looking between the boat race and the two women with him. "But—how're we gonna…" he frowned, "Well, we better bloody well see him! I mean, _come on_, right? 'Ts why we've come all this way, right? To see 'im?"

Kate bowed her head, a long, shaky sigh escaping her lungs. It was the last day of the Cowes races, and Kate had finally caved. The Humes were directly tied with the Widmores, and everyone was talking about it. Despite the very low profile they'd kept all week, and how much Kate had been trying to avoid all the talk…it was inevitable that she'd see his face in the news or local paper, hear his name in every overheard discussion, and ultimately it had been too much.

"No, Charlie, we're close enough."

"But…" he started again, lamely now, receiving his wife's harsh look and trying to comprehend. With a furrowed brow he harrumphed a "_Fine_" and tried to throw the ropes away in frustration. They were of course, still entangled in his hands, so he only succeeded in pitching himself forward a few feet and nearly falling into the Solent.

Claire sighed, and started adjusting their child. "I swear," she tried to change the topic, "if this _turniphead_ of his ends up with half those genes I'll disown him."

Kate tried to smile, accepting that Claire was trying to cheer her up, but she knew exactly how much Claire cared for her family. In the few private moments she'd stumbled across over the last few months of living with Charlie and Claire…Kate knew just how certainly the blonde's life was filled with love.

And she was scared to discover just how much she resented her friend for it.

"Oh no..."

Kate turned her head up, to see Claire staring off into space. She followed her gaze…and Kate's heart stopped beating as well.

She'd tried to be so careful in where she placed the boat, but…there he was. Almost as clear as day. The _Elizabeth_ was running just yards ahead of the Widmore boat, and they were approaching the turn-about point. She could see Desmond climbing the mast, trying to untie something, some of the others scattered over the deck…including, surprisingly, Sawyer...

But what stopped her heart was Jack. There he was, his t-shirt rippling in the strong winds, shouting directions behind the yacht's wheel. Kate's arms unconsciously tightened around their unnamed child, cradling her small head against her chest as if to shield her.

He was still so beautiful, and her heart ached in pure longing.

"_Jack_," she unconsciously whispered, and though she didn't see, both Charlie and Claire looked at her sadly.

And as if he heard her…Jack looked up.

And their eyes connected.

For that one moment, it appeared like everything else blurred. Jack's eyes were pure and stunning. Kate's heart, once dormant and twisting, nearly exploded with emotion, as it started beating a million times per second.

She couldn't allow herself…to hope…

Jack yelled something she couldn't hear, but then Desmond and Sawyer and others were turning their heads towards the _Par Avion_, twisting and craning their necks to find the small boat in the mess of others. And then Jack yanked the wheel, and the nose of the _Elizabeth_ turned towards Kate.

Panic shot through her veins, as Baby wiggled against Kate's chest. Cold, sharp breath exploded in her lungs, as Kate turned and propped her daughter against Charlie's bewildered pose. He absently grabbed and secured her.

"Charlie, take her downstairs!" she yelled, and immediately turned around again to grab the ropes Charlie had tangled. She heard Claire gasp behind her, then stomp across the deck in kind.

"Take Aaron too," she demanded, and then the blonde was beside Kate, and they were both furiously negotiating the sails.

Charlie blinked and stood still for only another second, before he disappeared below. The spinnaker jumped into life, catching on a strong gale of wind.

Kate hadn't been idle during her time in Sydney, had refused to be. With Claire's help, they were soon speeding towards land, towards the docks. She wasn't the best at this, and even if she was, the _Elizabeth_ was superior to their border-line dinghy by every stretch of the imagination, so she wasn't surprised when the tall white sails of the Hume yacht started appearing in her side vision.

But the _Elizabeth_ was also larger, and wouldn't be able to enter into the same shallow waters that the _Par Avion_ could…if only…if only they could make it…

Kate heard them before she saw them. Sawyer leapt onto their deck with his sort of awkward grace.

"Well hey there Freckles—long time no see!"

Kate grimaced and didn't turn around. Instead, she knocked the pulley at her foot, letting the rope it held tight whip through, the side mast throwing itself into Sawyer's stomach. The heavy _splash_ of him hitting the water should have been more satisfying.

But before she could really savor the smile, Desmond made himself known, taking the reins of the ship from Claire and slowing the whole boat down by throwing his body weight against the wind. With a glance towards Kate, Claire abandoned control, instead walking away to take her side. The blonde didn't have to say anything, because Kate could _feel_ Jack getting closer. It wasn't so much that she could hear his voice calling out final orders to the others still on the boat—to finish the race in any way possible, and for someone named Karl to take over the wheel. The timbre of it stung the small hairs at the nape of her neck, made her throat ache as it suddenly went dry. She felt the emotion clawing at her chest, but she refused it. She refused to turn around, and instead, she and Claire stared at the docks they didn't reach.

Jack leapt on deck, with all the loping grace she knew to expect from a man his size.

"Kate."

She bit her lip painfully, as if it was a way to stop her from feeling. Claire squeezed her hand, and somehow, it sent a shock through Kate's system. Whatever happened, she had Claire. She had…the baby. _Keep the baby safe_. So she turned around and faced him.

He was still gorgeous. There was a spray of water across his shirt, and little droplets still hung on his arms, neck and face. The way he was staring at her was the same as before, however…cold, and hard. And somewhere Kate felt like leaving.

"We need to talk, Kate."

Though her face remained that cool mask of indifference, the one she had had to master over the last seven months to keep Claire and Charlie from pestering, Kate's insides clenched bitterly, her heart racing.

Jack stepped past her and took control of the main sheet's ropes she had abandoned, and began to steer the boat back towards the dock, Desmond and the sopping wet Sawyer helping along the way.

"I can sail now, you know," she taunted.

"I saw," he returned, mocking her, letting her know he wasn't really impressed.

She glared at him, or really…the back of him. He wasn't looking at her, and she felt it. A small chill slipped down her spine, as if she had been expecting something all along. And maybe she'd been expecting him to be pleased at her being able to survive on her own. _Such a fool, Katie._

From below deck, the unmistakable cry of Kate's daughter bubbled over the din. For a moment, Kate just let the barely familiar sounds of it infect her, allowing herself to wallow in just a second of misery.

"What the hell was that," Jack shouted against the wind, angry, glaring at Claire. Kate's head shot up, a gasp on her lips. Claire was still in her bikini, her hair knotted and frizzy. But she had a fierce air to her that was nonetheless reassuring.

"Aaron, you idiot. Your nephew. The nephew you've never bothered to come see, thank you very much."

Relief was short-lived. Though Kate tried to look away, Jack's reaction was unmistakable: his shoulders fell, just half an inch, and his face froze up. To Kate, it was all too obvious why he wouldn't want to see the baby, when he'd thought that he lost his own. Which is…which was why he wasn't looking at Kate, why he'd barely blinked when he saw her. There was a wall ten-feet high in front of him, and he probably couldn't even see it.

It came as something of a surprise to realize they were already docking, but Kate couldn't find it in herself to care. She just wanted to get all of this over with, and be with her daughter.

"We'll take 'em to the castle, Jack."

"No, it's too far. The apartment's closer."

Kate didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Of course, the apartment. Where she and Jack had...too many memories.

A hand pressed into the small of Kate's back, and her stomach flipped. Jack's scent was suddenly everywhere, making her head light. The warmth of his fingers went through the cotton of her t-shirt, and again…all over again…she wished that things were different.

Jack's hand pulled away almost suddenly, and he stormed past her to the dock, leaping off and stepping quickly to the mainland to gather the cars. Desmond appeared where Jack was, his face grim.

"We need to talk to you, miss."

* * *

To say the least, the car ride was tense. Claire (now wrapped in a towel) was sitting beside Kate, clutching their hands together and glaring at everyone else in the limo. Jack wasn't looking at anyone, but staring at the window opposite him, leaning over his knees with his hands clasped together. There was a glaze to his eyes that let Kate know he was deep in thought, but that was about it.

Desmond was trying to ignore Sawyer's wiggling, as the American tried to both not fidget and dry himself, all the while trying to scowl dramatically.

It was perhaps him which made Kate stop caring. Just seeing how hard Sawyer, of all people, was trying to make her feel something, probably guilt, for some ridiculous crime she wasn't even aware of made her suddenly want to burst out laughing. Claire mistook the way she gripped the blonde's hands as needing comfort, and slid her arm around Kate's shoulders. But Kate was past that point all together. Here they were, the Humes, all trying to bully her into some sort of corner, trying to be all imposing with their pomp.

But Jack…she'd seen his face melt while they were together so long ago. She'd seen him laugh until it was coming through his nose. She'd seen him walk to the kitchen in nothing but socks to get her water. She'd seen him fall asleep.

So no. Right there, in the car, she decided nothing about the day could damage her any more than she'd been already. Let them do whatever the hell they pleased. They couldn't touch her, especially now that her life was not merely her own.

When the car rolled up alongside the familiar parking spot, and the car doors clicked unlocked and then popped open, Kate was the first out the door. Not surprisingly, Jack was the first one after her.

He was trying so hard not to look at her, but she refused to let it sting. Instead she focused on remembering their…_her_ daughter, the way _she_ looked when she was sleeping, or the way such small eyes could look straight through her. Of all the ways she looked like Jack.

The five of them crammed into the elevator and went up to the right floor, disembarking one by one. As they walked down the hall, Jack started padding his pockets.

"Des, do you have the keys?"

"What?" he responded, in his trademark lilt. "No, brother, I thought you had them."

"_Shit_," Jack swore, leaning against the wall.

"I'll call the house," Sawyer cut in, making himself useful.

"No," Jack cut him off, "No, that'll take half an hour. We'll just go to the castle."

Kate felt a smile split her face. Oh, this was too amusing. Leaning back against the wall, Kate slid her hands into her back pockets…but when they brushed against something cold and metallic, she froze.

And then she really did laugh.

Everyone else turned to glare, varying shades of '_Is she nuts_' on display. But Kate merely kept laughing as she pulled out the small key, tied on that piece of yarn. She'd been so accustomed to carrying it around, since she found it in the pockets of her luggage… The giggles threatened to turn into snorts as she side-stepped the others and unlocked the apartment door, walking inside and tossing the key to the kitchen counter. Its path along the counter split a thin layer of dust covered its lacquer surface, making the humor subside. Maybe this place hadn't been used, since… _No_, she shook her head, and forced the grin back in place.

Kate strode into the sitting room and took a chair facing the door, so she could see everyone else walk in, either disgruntled or surprised. Claire raced to be by her side.

"No, Claire, we need to talk to Kate alone."

"Like hell you will! Jack, I don't know where the hell you've been for the last six months, but I know where I've been."

"_Claire_!"

Kate wasn't surprised to hear the harsh tone of his voice, but Claire obviously was. She let the rest of the party walk into the bedroom and close the door behind them.

If she cared to notice, Kate would have seen how carefully Jack was avoiding looking at the bed. He leaned against the chest of drawers while Kate took to the mattress, and Desmond took the chair beside it. Sawyer excused himself to the bathroom.

"So am I supposed to guess why I'm here? Because let me tell you, I don't think this bed is big enough for four."

Jack scowled and Desmond looked curiously between them, unsure whether Kate was joking. She sighed, and leaned back against the bed, staring at the canopy of mirrors. Her face looked strangely disjointed, and it took her a moment to realize that the glass was splintered.

Desmond coughed discreetly. "We have some. Um, there have been some missing articles, Kate, and we'd like them back."

She blinked at the image of herself, heard Jack shift his body weight. "Articles? What would I have to do with missing articles?"

"Photographs." When the description failed to jog her memory, Desmond chanced a glare at Jack for his lack of support. His voice fell in pitch. "They were…sensitive, in nature."

Kate leaned up onto her elbows and stared at Desmond curiously. _Oh_. Him and the not-his-missus. "What makes you think I have them," she accused.

"You said," Jack started, before coughing into his fist. His voice was hoarse. "You said that you'd sold some. We need to know where, and _right now_."

Inside, she realized she felt like crying, and a hiccup threatened to expose that. But Kate played with a sardonic smile on her lips, let them know they were wrong. "Well, thanks so much for thinking so highly of me, but I'm afraid those were of old—"

"Don't lie to me, Kate!" Jack took steps towards her, unfolding his arms from his chest, before catching sight of Desmond. "Us," he amended, "Don't lie to us."

Coldness infected her features. "I'm not lying. Those pictures and everything else you're missing are in a cupboard next to the stove in your apartment in New York. I'm guessing you left almost as soon as I did, or you would have received my letter telling you as much."

She slid her glare from Jack to Desmond, whose eyes had gone wide as if not willing to believe her as telling the truth. But she'd mentioned more than he had so far accused of her, and she knew this offered validation.

Desmond looked to his first-cousin and frowned, reaching into his pocket for a cell phone and standing. He dialed as he walked out of the room.

Leaving Jack and Kate alone.

The irony was miserable. How long had she wanted to be alone with him, in this exact place, on this exact bed. And now that they were here, there was nothing but rubble between them—the wall that they'd once enclosed around each other now razed and useless.

Jack had turned away and was leaning against the dresser, his shoulders hunched and tense. And unbidden, she felt tears well up beneath her eyes, and softly, she said his name.

"_Jack_."

"I never wanted to see you again. I—"

He didn't finish his sentence, and Kate had to close her eyes against the reopened wound. What was she doing. Again. Somewhere outside this room was a nameless child who needed her, and she was being selfish with a man who didn't want her. Kate was ready to go before Sawyer creaked the door open and peaked into the tense bedroom, but it gave her incentive to leave. She stood and walked until she was inches from his back, so she could whisper.

"There are so many questions you could have asked, Jack, which would have given you all the answers you desire." She choked a little. "I'm almost sorry that you'll never know."

And his returning voice was harsh. "Never know what."

The bedroom door opened and Desmond walked in, barely surprised to see them standing so intimately.

"She's telling the truth, Jack. It was all there."

Kate sucked in a deep breath, and stared straight ahead. "Great. I'm leaving."

She didn't stay to see the way Jack's eyes widened in shock, the way he turned and stared helplessly as she strode towards the apartment door. Claire joined her side and they left the small key on the bit of yarn, imparting their goodbye on these Humes forever.

* * *

The Widmores, predictably, won by more of a margin than they'd ever beat the Humes before. Christian was livid. Most wouldn't have realized his spite in moving the annual Firework Ball from _The Pearl_ to the Hume's castle at the very last moment.

But he was _making_ Claire, Charlie and Aaron come. While having this conversation, Kate had been wandering around the kitchen, tidying, but it didn't go past her that Christian did not look at her once.

"We want Kate to come," Claire insisted.

Kate laughed a forced laugh. "I don't want to go," she countered. When she looked up and saw the tick in Christian's temple, she gave up her spite. "You guys, go. It's one night, and no one's seen Aaron yet. You can…you can count this as his debut, and never have to do it again when he's fifteen."

Claire grinned and almost laughed, but she and Charlie conceded.

As she watched them leave a few hours later, get everything ready for getting ready at the castle, it dawned on Kate that her child would be the disowned princess that no one ever knew of. In hiding her away, she was denying her baby the best of everything…including her father.

Kate shrugged bitterly. So? That was no more than Kate was ever born to, and she turned out fine. She was a girl, anyway, and no Hume first-borns were girls. Neither of them belonged in that family, it seemed.

The baby roused a few hours later, and Kate nursed and changed her. By then of course, the emptiness of the household had fed into her bitterness, and combined they formed a crushing guilt. So Kate dressed her child, picked up her keys, and left the small cottage she'd been renting with Charlie and Claire for the past month. It was dark and warm out, but a cool breeze denied

her a chance to really feel the heat in her jeans and t-shirt. Instead of bringing the stroller, Kate held her daughter as they walked towards town, pointing out anything that looked familiar.

"That's the ocean," she confided, taken with the way the moonlight cast a long reflection on the water. "You'll learn to love it."

They walked until the dirt turned to cobblestone, and until the cobblestone became smoother. There were people everywhere on the street, either drunk and jovial or in the process of becoming drunk and jovial, but no one really bothered her. Pretty lights were hanging everywhere like fireflies, and some restaurants open late had seen to putting out paper lanterns to mark the occasion of fireworks, and the end of Cowes.

And then Kate found what she was looking for.

The Ryde Castle was the prettiest of them all, with a quiet din appropriate to a well-attended party going well. There was a band playing, and people were laughing politely. Lights hidden among the vines twinkled, as if they really were fireflies.

"I'm sorry," she now whispered to the baby, staring up at the castle lit from within. "I'm so sorry."

A door opened on a third floor balcony, and a few young, female patrons stepped out onto the deck. They were giggling a bit too much, probably drunk, but Kate found that she was staring at them.

"Jack!" one of them whined, "Oh, Jack, come and join us for the fireworks!"

Kate's heart sank. Of all the coincidences, it should happen that she would be witness to how Jack had moved on. She knew that from where she was standing in the shadows, she couldn't be seen, so Kate allowed herself to watch like a voyeur, silently wishing she had the will to turn away.

"_Jack_…" the other one pouted, and then thrust her hands inside and dragged the aforementioned man out with them. She dove to place a drunk, wet kiss on his lips, but he turned awkwardly at the last second, and she caught his cheek.

"Ladies," he calmed, turning away from the night to place his hands on their backs, "The fireworks really do look better from the rose gardens. Why don't you find a hiding place, and then I'll come find you."

One of them giggled shrilly. "Like a game?"

"Just like a game." Jack's voice was calm and in the subtlest way mocking, but Kate could bet that they didn't realize. But they giggled and skipped inside anyway, a pair of bleach-blonde lemmings. When they were gone, Jack released a long sigh, staring after them for a long time. Then he closed the balcony doors behind them, and turned to stare off the balcony at the ocean.

Beneath him, hidden, Kate bit her lip and almost cried. Damn her hormones, she swore, rocking her child. Something popped from behind her, and Kate spun on the spot, in time to see a blast of gold hit the sky. It was starting. A year ago she'd seen these lights in a rearview mirror, on her way to join Jack's bed for the first time. The memory should have made her blush, but Kate had dwelled on all of them to be coy any longer. Forgetting where she was, Kate walked towards the sea, and stood on a bluff that overlooked the ocean. Another firework shot into the sky, joined quickly by another. Blue and gold overlapped, followed by a shower of sparkling white.

The baby stirred.

Kate was too taken with the sight to notice. There were another few crashes of light and sound, an array of small and large orbs, until suddenly the baby gave a shrill cry of discomfort. Kate gasped and held the baby up to her chest, patting her back and rocking her, cooing into her hear consolingly. But the noise wasn't abating, and the baby kept crying, so Kate realized that she would have to leave.

But when she turned, he was staring at her. And even across the space separating them, Kate saw Jack's eyes widen with shock.

_No._ Kate gasped a ragged gasp, and it was like Jack's incentive to move. In a moment he had disappeared inside, and Kate would be a fool to think he was going anywhere but to where Kate and the baby were standing. For a moment her traitorous mind wanted to stay, but no. Kate took off towards the town at a run, anchoring the baby's head against her shoulder even as her cries increased in strength. There was no where to go, she realized too late, but Kate wouldn't slow down. Jack was stronger, his legs were longer, and he had nothing to keep safe in order to watch his step. She could hide, but the town was a good half mile from the castle, and the streets were lined with rose bushes. She knew their thorns intimately.

When she heard the running footsteps behind her, Kate panicked and sped up. But the road was rocky, and the footsteps were only coming closer, so Kate nearly skidded to a stop and spun around, her hair whipping in the wind.

"What do you want, Jack!" she yelled, desperate and tired, over the strength of her daughter's cries and the crashing fireworks overhead.

He slowed to stop not two yards in front of her, eyes still wide, but panting. His tuxedo was skewed, but he didn't seem to notice anything. His eyes were trained on the crying swaddle in Kate's arms, and as if it reminded her, Kate started to rock the child again.

"You…" he started plainly, "You had a child."

"No," she said, her voice dripping with cruelty, "I stole it."

His eyebrows knit together for a moment in the smallest hint of a frown, but he repeated: "You had a child."

Kate was silent. She tore her gaze away from his face and towards the ocean, hoping that something there would give her strength or the right thing to say. The baby quieted, but she almost didn't notice.

"You had _my_ child." His voice now was tainted with grief, with all the things he was realizing. He was a smart man; these things came to him quickly, and the sadness and regret in his voice made her want to cry as well.

"Of course I did Jack," she whispered.

It hung in the air for a moment. Jack raked a hand over his head and turned away us well, trying to hide the collection of tears. "Why," he started, but then he had to start again, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged meekly. "Self preservation, I guess."

He tried to laugh. "Self preservation." His voice was cruel. "Kate," he addressed her, "You lied."

Kate closed her eyes, and tears fell from them. _Yes_, _I lied_.

But Jack wasn't finished. "You lied Kate. You lied, you left, you had my child and were you ever going to tell me?" He paused to let her deny his accusation, but Kate said nothing. "You weren't going to tell me!" Suddenly, Jack was right next to her, his arms on either of her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. Everything rushed to the surface now, as she was enveloped by everything that she'd fantasized over in her moments of deepest longing. Jack's eyes were alive and staring at her, his lips soft and so close she could see the small crevices. His cheeks were shaven and clean, and everything about him smelled familiar.

"And I still love you."

Kate let out a surprised sob, and looking miserable, couldn't look away even though the tears were about to fall. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves, the light touch of make up merely highlighting all the features he loved about her most. And now, when he spoke to her, his voice was so incredibly vulnerable.

"I've been looking for you for so long, without letting myself believe that I wanted to find you."

"You haven't been looking for me," she whispered, looking away, accusing him of telling the lie.

"I have, Katherine Anne Austen." She gasped, but Jack continued. "I know where you were born, I know all three of your parents names. I know where you went to school, who your friends were and what grades you got until you killed your father."

Kate's eyebrows drew together in pain and surprise. He knew. And when she looked at him he didn't look scared, or judgmental, or disgusted.

"I know _why_," he finished. "And I know that you went to juvenile detention, until you were released early into a photography program at the University of Iowa. I know why you came to England and that it's my fault that you had to stay."

The baby made a grab for a tendril of Kate's hair.

"In the past six months I've been to half the states in America, revisited every place we went together. I've been nearly fired," he smiled, letting her know he didn't care as he mock counted in his head, "four times, and I just stopped caring—about all of it.

"Because I know…Kate…that I love you."

"I—" Kate drew in a shaky breath, tried not to sound too forthcoming and tried not to cry. "God, Jack, I love you too."

Light lit Jack's face from within, and suddenly he was smiling with such force it was almost splitting his face. And he kissed her.

There was no aplomb to it—he just pulled her towards him and smothered her lips, giving her the hard type of kiss born of the sheer desperation to be close. He pulled away, cradling her. "Truth?"

She laughed at his feeble joke and leaned in to kiss him again, her hand coming up to rest against his face as she made this kiss sweeter, softer. Jack tried to keep it as such, but he was far too excited, and suddenly he was pulling her closer again and making the kiss stick to her lips.

"Hey!" she grinned, pulling back, "You'll hurt the baby."

"Never," he cried, and looked down at the bundle between them, the girl staring up at them, making no sound with her small eyes wide.

"It's a girl," she murmured, holding the baby towards him, waiting for him to accept her. "She's not two weeks old yet."

Jack's eyes were amazed as the bundle was settled in his arms, but when he got used to it, he looked up at her with sad eyes. Kate smiled and shook her head; there would be time for apologies later.

"What did you name her?"

"Ah," Kate started, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder and another on the baby's head. "Now, that's a problem. See, I suppose I've gone by too many names to really have a good one for her. So really…we've been just calling her 'Baby.'" Jack looked at her queerly and Kate felt self-conscious. "I know, it's terrible."

Jack grinned a little and kissed her suddenly again. He took his time savoring the feel, adding small kisses afterwards. But when he'd finally satisfied himself with her lips, he looked down at the child, in mock-determination.

"Well…" he started, and then peered at Kate. "You know, I think 'Shephard' fits both of you well."

Kate's eyes went wide, as her mind went a bit blank. "What?" she shook her head and sobered. Absently she noticed that the skies were silent, that the firework show was over. "You're lying." Jack laughed.

"Nope, I'm sorry, you're going to have to be a Hume now."

"Uggghh," she groaned, dramatically. "I should have never had your baby."

A moment too late, she realized the connotations. But Jack only threw his head back and laughed—completely and utterly at ease.

* * *

Morning crept over them slowly, poking through the light curtains as the sun tried to wake the duo gently.

Kate sighed and stretched languidly between the plain white sheets, her arms brushing over Jack's naked torso. He came alive at her touch, his limbs reaching to envelope her against himself. "I don't want to wake up," he murmured, his eyes closed to prove his point.

Kate giggled softly and kissed along the underside of his chin. "I promise," she whispered, coming close to his lips, "it's not a dream."

Jack's eyes opened, and he looked down at her, a mix of awe and wonder on his face. His lips parted, as if he were to say something.

But it was then that the baby decided to make herself known.

Kate grinned wickedly as Jack groaned and rolled away.

"Don't get up, I'll get it!" a voice called, and suddenly the bedroom door swung open and a short red-headed man made his way inside. "I know, I know, feed and change, the bottle's already in the water…"

The room went silent. Even the baby stopped crying. Jack and Kate were staring at Charlie. Charlie was staring at the naked-and-trying-to-hide-it Jack and Kate.

"Oh," he managed. "Oh, um. Hi…Jack."

Kate winced, but Jack merely grinned, allowing a small wave. "Charlie."

"So you uh…" the Brit continued, in a state of arrested development. "You were here all night, yeah?"

"Yup," Jack conceded, his lips tight.

Charlie crossed his arms and lifted his hand to his lips, looking Jack up and down. "And you uh. You plan on spending more nights here as well, do you?"

Jack looked towards Kate, who was trying _really hard_ not to laugh. Jack nodded his head somberly and quirked his lips, making a clicking noise out of the side of his mouth. "You know, I think that's the plan."

Charlie looked between them for a moment, and the baby started to cry again.

"Well," Charlie said, clearly wanting to say more, "Well I'll just leave you to it then." There was an awkward moment where Charlie made his way backwards through the door and closed it behind him.

Jack and Kate started laughing the moment he was gone, Jack getting up to see to the baby, but Charlie appeared unperturbed. "I'll have you know I was there the whole time, you know!" he shouted through the closed door, trying to be heard. "Yeah that's right! I was there when _you_ weren't! It was _me_ who had to change the diapers, and feed the bleedin' thing when Kate was too tired to stand, and uh. And when she was all cryin' and miserable because you—! You weren't there, Jack!"

Jack had the baby in his arms and was rocking her gently, but his eyes raised towards Kate in question of what he'd just heard. There was a moment where Kate looked sad, in memory of all the times she'd wept. But with a mischievous glance towards Jack, Kate merely stretched to the bedside table, hitting the clock-radio onto whatever it was tuned to. A song immediately filled the room enough to muffle Charlie's voice, and Jack smiled, settling back into bed and handing the baby to Kate. As she woke up the baby more, with kisses and soft tickles and soothing brushes of her skin, Jack wrapped himself around her back. He leaned his chin on her shoulder to watch and covered her arms with his own, his legs sticking out alongside Kate's. And despite the fact that they weren't really listening, a soft melody reached their ears and they both listened to the words.

Not everything was right, yet. But it was getting better.

I'm waiting for the train

Subway that only goes one way

The stupid thing that'll come to pull us apart

Make everybody late

You spent everything you had

Wanted everything to stop that bad

Now I'm a crashed credit card registered to Smith -

Not the name that you called me with

You turned white like a saint

I'm tired of dancing on a pot of gold-flaked paint

Oh we're so very precious, you and I

And everything that you do makes me want to die

Oh I just told the biggest lie

I just told the biggest lie

The biggest lie

* * *

The end.

* * *

**AN:** So that's it. The whole thing, the first fic I've ever finished, and I managed to do it in less than a year. Less than six months, almost! No? Well, almost. One of these days or years I'm going to come back to this fic and fix up all the places it's gone and frayed, but that's a long way off.

What I would like to request, to those who have made it this far, is for a review. No, this fic doesn't need any more, but every once in awhile I'll take a peek and notice that people still read this from start to finish, and a part of me is really curious to know why. So, if you have time and are feeling generous, please hit that little button on the bottom and drop me a line. I promise it'll make a lady smile.


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